The hunter who dropped his prey swiftly
He shoots, intending to maim,
who is toddling after a mother
as she clutches a small loaf of bread
He starves without knowing or heeding
who nurses her crippled lover
unaware that her unborn child
their tanks painted pallid for peace,
that this is not war as they know it.
Is not merely a technical defect
crying out across the millennia
"This is what war is for."
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