His men still,
All at arms,
Young of age
Not readied for all harm.
"Fire the artillery,
Send for the Calvary,
Get them there,
Hold the line!
Die not for yourself,
A simple trade:
Life for eternal glory,
No soul is wasted,
In these fields of death"
He watches, he waits
He thinks, he stumbles
All in vain
As his plans fall the drain
"What now?" they say,
All is lost, none stand,
Great autumn orchids
Stained red
With youthful pride and vigor,
Gone for a pointless dream.
Guiding hand
To earnest and certain doom,
He sits on a throne of corpses,
Wasted genius, wasted effort,
All for naught, all far gone.
Tactician, intellectual,
Butcher, fool
Hero, Angel,
Villain, Devil,
A man of no equal,
A man of all folly,
A leader and a killer,
A man , in his hands
The hopes of nations
And empires,
A man with no where to go,
"There's nothing we can do.",
He says at last,
"Here's my Waterloo ; all is lost.".
As he stands in surrender,
Both flawless general
And flawed man.
