no winners at the end

to speak of valour is no great mistake

when each of us confronts the howling gale

those who are ready when the sandbags fail

know what is meant when city turns to lake

each of them is that moment wide awake

while in their corners all the cowards quail

left with no benefit save their own stale      

as even stoutest bodies bend and shake

words that are spoken in the autumn sun

lose all their purchase during winter's turn

but are the currency of many schools

repenting of their choices no one's done

before they see their youthful wishes burn

and know themselves for ordinary fools