Our Poets August Poem - MORE GUNS IN AUGUST?



                         MORE GUNS IN AUGUST?
                         Should the Trumpet Sound
                "The muffled tongue of Big Ben tolled nine by the clock
                as the cortege left the palace, but on history's clock it was
                sunset, and the sun of the old world was setting in a dying
                blaze of splendor never to be seen again."
                                                                -- Tuchman, "The Guns of August"
                        "In scarlet and purple and blue and green,
                        Three by three the sovereigns rode"
                        Through London streets, a fantastic scene
                        Prescribed under royalty's rigid code.
                        King Edward Seventh had breathed his last,
                        Bands played slow, and the great bell boomed,
                        Glorious pageantry marching past,
                        Never a one knew their way was doomed.

                        Every so often, the eye turns back
                        To view, with a quizzical, dim foreboding,
                        Events that the headlines screamed in black,
                        Bygone echoes of shells exploding,
                        Legions of soldiers--perhaps their shades--
                        Steadily tramp to the martial beat,
                        Far from the drills and the dress parades,
                        Flaps from the flagstaff a winding-sheet.

                        Consumptive radical slays Archduke,
                        Nations erupt into global war--
                        Rogues develop a secret nuke,
                        We're almost back into nineteen-four.
                        Diplomats squabble and sabers rattle,
                        Enemies rise, there is rising fear,
                        Are we set to resume the battle?
                        Better prepare, while the skies are clear.

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