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A Plea

 Why need we newer arms invent,
 Poor peoples to destroy?
With what we have let's be content
 And perfect their employ.
With weapons that may millions kill, Why should we seek for more, A brighter spate of blood to spill, A deeper sea of gore? The lurid blaze of atom light Vast continents will blind, And steep in centuries of night Despairing humankind.
So let's be glad for gun and blade, To fight with honest stuff: Are tank, block-buster, hand-grenade And napalm not enough? Oh to go back a thousand years When arrows winged their way, When foemen fell upon the spears And swords were swung to slay! Behold! Belching in Heaven black Mushrooms obscene! Dear God, the brave days give us back, When wars were clean!

Poem by Robert William Service
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