The thing I’d like to underscore
Is just how ridiculous
Is this thing called war
You’d think we’d have something better to do
Than to cut someone’s body in two
Just because he thinks different thoughts
Or talks to different gods
Or prefers his chips with flounder
While we all swear by cod
Or because he speaks
In a strange tongue
Or prefers a lethal dose of gas
While we prefer to see them hung.
Or differs from us
In ways middling and small
As when he likes his women fat
While we like ours tall
Wouldn’t it be just dandy
If we who are about to die
For reasons not fully explained
Gave our wives some candy
Or went and baked a pie
And left the masters of war
Foiled, failed and frustrated
Standing recruit-less
Out in the rain!