Come look, try not to cringe, to weep to know
that all good sense is lost in flames of war.
Our men--just boys--have learned too young to sow
the seeds of death on fields once sere where gore
now floods from legs and arms and bits of breasts,
of eyes, of guts strewn, torn, and brain. Add shirts
and shreds of steel and choking smoke and rests
of babes and shoes, and dogs that howl, and skirts.
In spite of eyes tight closed, dread sights cannot
be banned, they shriek, their voice bursts shrill,
then wanes, then moans, and dust and sand, sun hot,
day long, night long, the bombs, the smell of flesh on grill.
Rise up, stand tall, rejoice, you'll soon be free.
How thrilled you'll be when you are free like me.