The Armies Poem by Jonathan Andrews

The Royal Iterian Army
Was certainly winning the fight;
The bulletshots made the air stormy,
And gunfire lit up the night.

Right well near the end of the battle,
When most of the troops lie now down,
Machine guns went on with a rattle
And chargers ran on 'thout a frown.

The flak-guns tore into the masses;
The men were now dropping like flies.
Machine guns continued their passes;
Men fell to the ground not to rise.

Now that the battle is over,
The soldiers look over the ground;
While some move around in a rover,
Picking up from the ground those were downed.

They swiftly recover the wounded,
And let those who sleep to their fate.
They pick up their own who had swounded;
In this course they're never too late.

The ones who had lost the sad skirmish,
Tomorrow will rise once again--
These men are all civil, not wormish:
Their bullets inflict only pain.

So tomorrow they'll rise all again,
And tomorrow they'll war once again.