From the firmament do the dead men peer
At the world below with their long dead eyes;
At a crazy world they don’t recognize.
And the sounds of strife reach each ghostly ear,
From the crowd’s foul mouth that is twisted, queer,
And they see the smoke and the headline lies,
And the idiots who are now thought wise;
And the shades, they mutter: “They know not fear.”
For these ghosts have been to the depths of Hell,
Braved the bayonet and the screaming shell.
Now they fix their gaze from beyond the sky,
And they see the truth —see the traitor’s lie.
Now see clearly what they have seen before:
Unmistakable are the winds of war.
— D.N. O’Brien