"When he was small, when he would fall,
on sand or carpet he would lie
quite flat and still until he knew
what he would do: get up or cry.

After the battle, flat and still
upon a hillside now he lies--
but there is nothing to decide,
for he can neither cry nor rise."

--V Nabokov, in: Po*ts of World War II (ed H Shapiro, 2003)