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. . . Retaliation

When distant trumpets blow sounding retreat
And all directions pointed back to base
Despair waits as the foe of greater threat
Such that only victory would erase
The unhealed wounds and scars that all bewailed
Add bitterness to misery and grief
Yet may behoove to change the scheme that failed
Boding better times, but suffering, brief
The mound of dead piled up under the grass
Where limping comrades plant the tattered flag
Stands tribute cast in bones instead of brass
But the action in which braves should first log
Is find the strength to fight those doubts again
Always arrayed for battle in the brain.
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