Dessert Storm Redeux

© Edward C. Marshall

Roses arc Red.

Violets are blue.

So are the wounds of soldiers, too;

Even those without a clue.

Bravely flung across the desert sands,

They'll eat their fill of excrement

vomited from their missing guts,

And then move on,

Their fatal foolsteps in the sands of time,

Blown beneath the desert storms--

Disappearing in timely soldiers' cadence

As they pulse their ebbing, flowing blood

Upon the sands-of temporality.

Roses are red and violets arc blue.

Even on caskets and body bags, too.

Draped with flags and tears and dirt

deep beneath the green, green grass

—at home.