Commas Count
War mars the face of man.
Though this be known to all men
we realists connive.
Thrice-prancing priests in March
have made red their faces,
have conspired anew to despoil
summer's increase,
overmuch not caring
for those about to dye
crimson Plutonic plains,
to expire in the dark.
War, Mars, the face of Man?
Copyright © Julian Scutts | Year Posted 2017
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