To “My People,” Before the “Great Offensive”

By: Eric Fitzwater Wilkinson (1916) Dark with uncertainty of doubtful doom The future looms across the path we tread; Yet, undismayed we gaze athwart the gloom, Prophetically tinged with hectic red. The mutterings of conflict, sullen, deep, Surge over homes where hopeless tears are shed, And ravens their ill-omened vigils keep O’er legions dead.