At hoar sunrise, before stars fade
from slumber rise to dress parade.
We steal supplies in angry raid,
with steel surprise in ambuscade:
the tyrant’s spies retire dismayed.
They dropp like flies, their force is frayed;
his martial might, too far has strayed,
is faint, afright, withdraws afraid.
They’ll not stake fight, no longer staid,
see cowards’ flight, - we’ll not be stayed.
Can cowards’ greed crush Liberty?
I shall succeed! Democracy!
Life President soon shall I be! ...
I see unrest strip power from me,
from Satan sent, vile tyranny! ...
Ah! Swiss accounts’ security!
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Comments about this poem (Guerilla by Jonathan ROBIN )
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