A Friend Killed in the War -- Anthony Hecht

Night, the fat serpent, slipped among the plants,

Intent upon the apples of his eyes;

A heavy bandoleer hung like a prize

Around his neck, and tropical red ants

Mounted his body, and he heard advance,

Little by little, the thin female cries

Of mortar shells. He thought of Paradise.

Such is the vision that extremity grants.

In the clean brightness of magnesium

Flares, there were seven angels by a tree.

Their hair flashed diamonds, and they made him doubt

They were not really from Elysium.

And his flesh opened like a peony,

Red at the heart, white petals furling out.