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Poem, crossposted to the community verse_albion - Wemyss's Appalling Hobby:
From the Party Guilty of Committing 'Gate of Ivory, Gate of Horn'
Poem, crossposted to the community verse_albion

Reflections in time of war


Where do the old Cold Warriors go in the summer?

When the Russians with snow on their boots, like Nikolai Panin,

Give way to the sons of the desert, the hot-eyed sand-furies?

Where now is Jack Butler?  Where, David Audley?

These are not the questions of novelists only,

Or of the aficionados of Anthony Price.


War is hotter now, fought from tank and Hummer.

Fought by Americans, mostly, with rocket and cannon,

With mortar rounds against the scimitar and IED.  Flurries

Of action at the sharp end.  Heated. Oddly,

The intelligence officer, whose wars, lonely,

Shaped the field action, must feel war now does not entice.


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