Routing The Fight
All over at last, all over
Like the man who fought
A thousand courages with eloquence,
They formidably fought like stoves
As furnaces of sheer steel.
The religion of ecstasy
Intruded, eliding the vowels
With their arabs on the march.
Butchering blatantly they fought
Hard garrisons like debris cluttering
The ground with growls and ash.
My feet are stained since fighting
As I viewed the scene of disgrace;
Kneeling was an art in those days,
Selfish men eluded the greater dozen,
Deserting the smashing culture,
Liking the roasting mutton like no other
Pain in this world of worlds.
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