Katharine Howard: Belgium December 22, 2022 Briony Cox-Williams This is the field that was crushed in their dying, And over and over the wind blows sighing— A desolate, sobbing, searching wind. ’Tis a low gray land of barren spaces And long rough ridges of burial places, The grass bruised into the choking sod. The clouds are lank with a dull slow weeping, And the mist enshrouds the place of their sleeping.