Why do boy-childs fool in foolish fashion
with thunder-sticks, like men,
muzzle flashes cleft in twain the binding creak-of-leather straps
upon the roaring dog-jaws of death and dissolution,
hide behind the tall and perfumed brightly skirts of a cause,
meet violent noise with seeming passion?
Could it be that they are honest boys,
without a truth to utter?
fold toy-rattle cartridge boxes,
fresh steaming rounds
in bosom flesh;
to taste the worlds war mutters.