Re: The poetry of Philip Britts

That my white lamb is being carried off
In steel-like talons to the unknown hills
And is a lost speck only, in the sky--
That is not the chief thing;
 
Or that I did not have the strength or skill
To drive off the attacker, to defeat
Merciless claw and swift unerring beak
Or shattering wing;
 
But my fist is smashed and bloody
And my arm is a scarlet rag,
Showing I struck at the eagle . . .
And that is the chief thing.
 
Philip Britts, 13 December, 1941