However, this nice dainty-squeamish fashion,
Our college friend, the general in his passion,
All neglect or else refuse to see
That war, although for some an outdoor spree
Is far the worst and poorest means we've got
To solve the international Gordian knot;
The ragged knife presumes the sleeping skill
That should have coiled the rope unknotted still
The crystal eye and calmly piercing mind
That see why vicious lemming hoardes are blind,
Not wits to belt-produce a million tanks
These, these distinguish us from Fascist ranks.
The vital nucleus light of our four years
Has been the quest to see beyond veneers,
But purple cloaks this true necessity,
So favor calls a dexterous slave the key.
The war has come; (some almost breathe its breath);
Our course--to see it to its clouded death.
If rule, then, and this our sight divorce their lives,
The knots will grow again, and for them knives.