Through thick of sniper fire and raining hell,
along the dire trail of Shrapnel Gully,
to haven, bore three hundred men who fell,
did John Simpson Kirkpatrick, and his Duffy.

I was, from crib, encouraged to admire,
how Private Simpson at Gallipoli,
took wounded to the beach from front-line fire
so gently, carried by his donkey, Duffy.

It’s one of many legends of Gallipoli,
elaborated on throughout the century;
exaggerated, it’s a certainty,
but true’s the tale of Duffy, Simpson’s donkey.

Mr. Rainbow attracted me
He Killed me with his charming shots
So I read more about him
And here's what I got..

Mr. Rainbow
----------------

Through crystal clear elegancy
passes the magic of the light,
to split the droplets' transparency,
and turn it to a colorful delight.

Look at the horizon and see
it's adorned with a bow;
violet, blue, red and green
indigo, orange and yellow.

In dark wee hours of the morn
a blustery wind howls at the window
attempting to shake loose the panes
and warm itself inside.

Abed, I snuggle deeper
beneath the quilted warmth
like a squirrel in its leafy nest
on verge of drifting off to a troubled slumber
awaiting a possible late frost.
The farmers' bane.

Sometimes you fall through a deepening crack,
Mt. Etna burns in your throat, and you spit out broken shards
of clay, coiled like a snake around your own ashes.
Maybe a hole in the sky
opens to strike you down on the way to Damascus
or maybe you walk through a wall on the way
to somewhere else cloaked in invisibility and feathers
of the Great Horned Owl. You've never been here before
and you're a little queasy at first, a little tipsy from
too much sugar in your bloodstream. But then it's