'The Infinite Debt'
By Rachel Bates 1942
A stranger died for me, groaned and dropped and died somewhere, his fire quenched utterley in a shrivelling air.
And how shall I requite, his wounds, his death, who dies unknown and keeps my feeble flame alight with ransom of his own.
All life all loves his fee, whose perished fire conserves my spark, who bought the brightening day for me and for himself the dark.
© 2015 Barrie Barnes