1.14 a.m. 14th October 1947.
He was from his mother untimely
Timely ripped, overdue,
Long before her time.
Caesar’s so fashionable these days,
Quite the rage!
You can already hear the clicking
Tongue, the pointed intakes of breathe,
“Late again Jones! Take a seat at the back.”
Enter the word warrior worrier,
Bulging out of woollen suit,
His hatred of all cold so evident.
With other, blacker seed
Settling in, out of sight
And soon within those tiny fists,
His chosen means to fight.