The ancient ones, when warfare came to stay,
knew what to do. They combed their hair
upon the rocks. Blades grew keen and bright.
Greaves were fastened sure about their *****.
Heads encased in helmets; eyes grew somber.
Return with all your shields, the women cried,
or else upon them. Battle smeared their tunics
red with blood. Some came home, and some
found homes where spirits are embraced.

Their descendants know a different way of war,
more lethal and more telling-
the bombard and the mass assault,
the arquebus and pike,
the canister and cannon,
the minie ball and shell,
mustard gas and trench mortar,
the blitzkrieg and the mushroom cloud,
cluster bomb and ******,
and silent death from above.

Some believe the noble way
is killing face-to-face-
but I confess that death at distance
also has its place.
Ancient peoples fought their battles
firmly on the ground-
but we fight on a sea of war,
and we must swim, or drown.