David Herbert Lawrence. (№ 263285)

If you build your ship of death?
Build your ship of death, you're gonna need it.
Severe frosts soon, the apples will fall hail
almost thunderous, on the hardened earth.
And death soaked the air, like a smell of ashes
Oh, don't you feel it?
In the body battered and scared soul
huddled, shivering from the cold,
that is blowing at her through the wound.