Ukrainian Plot
Born of revolt, misnamed revolution,
With hammer and sickle gilding the red
Since furled, yet workers still being bled
In cause of nation set against nation.
History’s managers draw, redraw borders,
Lines of convenience too easily crossed;
Capital gains, but then reckon the cost
In lives of those just following orders.
War is grim work and soldiers are workers
Trained and skilled in the old craft of killing
Each other. Whether willing or unwilling
It’d be better by far they were shirkers.
Of all, such is the very worst of toil
For each laid beneath a mean patch of soil.
D. A.
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