ANOTHER KIND OF WAR

I heard an Aunt say, long ago

that she was happy she had only girls

No boys to go to war

She could not bear the thought

of battered bodies and broken bones

of the cold quiet of memorial stone

I saw her girls march off to unknown foxholes

O, was is hell, all right,

as Sherman said

It is of some, but little comfort

to me that my aunt was spared the pain

of knowing

that her girls marched to anguished drums

in silence felt the cannon fire

unseeing saw the blood run red

and wounded, fell in bombed-out shelters

with shattered hearts

O, yes, war is hell,

as Sherman said