“A soldier braving disease and death on <br />the battlefield has a seven times better chance <br />of life than a new-born baby.”—Secretary of <br />War, U.S.A. <br /> <br /> <br />The Hapless Army from the dark <br />That lies beyond creation, <br />All blinded by the solar spark, <br />And leaderless in lands forlorn, <br />Come stumbling through the mists of morn; <br />And foes in close formation, <br />With taloned fingers dripping red, <br />Bestrew the sodden world with dead. <br /> <br />The Hapless Army bears no sword; <br />Fell destiny fulfilling, <br />It marches where the murder horde, <br />Amid the fair new urge of life, <br />With poison stream, and shot, and knife, <br />Make carnival of killing. <br />No war above black Hell's abyss <br />Knows evil grim and foul as this. <br /> <br />In pallid hillocks lie the slain <br />The callous heaven under; <br />Like twisted hieroglyphs of pain <br />They fleck earth to oblivion's brink, <br />As far as human mind may think, <br />Accusing God with thunder <br />Of dreadful silence. Nought it serves— <br />Fate ever calls the doomed reserves! <br /> <br />Still with Death's own monotony <br />The innocents are falling, <br />Like dead leaves in a forest dree; <br />And still the conscript armies come. <br />No banners theirs, no beat of drum, <br />No merry bugles calling! <br />Mad ally in the Slayers' train, <br />Man slaps and sorrows for the slain!<br /><br />Edward George Dyson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-hapless-army/
