3 JULY 1941, Page 14

EUTHANASIA

SOMETIMES Death tires of all the old and tattered

Souls that stand thronging at his dark iron gate, Of eyes lack-lustre and of limbs scar-shattered, Aims for a child and lets the ancients wait.

Children die carelessly ; and not delaying For any ties, slip out and silent pass That Pluto may delight to see them playing With his pale queen upon the withered grass.

DAVID WINSER.