WHY THEM?
It was a low and distant undulation
That rudely stirred our sleep in Morpheus.
Our comrade hearts leapt in syncopation,
As closer came the fire they'd stored for us.
Vaguely hinting of their destination,
Echoing a mother's intonation.
Incoming high-pitched screams all grounded us.
Bosom-like revetments surrounded us.
Into the mind as moans of the night go
Indelibly acid etched with nitro,
The mortars mixed blood and perspiration
On a pallet of nerve exasperation.
One question haunts us every veteran season:
Did fate shoot craps in death or have a reason
To spare the life of each lowly sparrow,
While skewering eagle hearts on its arrow?