Here it comes, my third poetry season.

WHAT ARE WE FIGHTING FOR?
(Francis Kerr Young 1990)

A thousand bombers bombed Berlin
on the night that I was born,
and roaring guns met my cry
in a world split and torn.

All the fighting, and the anger,
and all the hatred and pain,
has not changed in sixty years
nor since the days of Cain.

A decade past then came Korea,
and shells began to whine
then soldiers died both North and South
so they could draw a line,

The brink was reached in '61
when poker was the game,
a nuclear bluff over Cuba's soil
was called in Freedom's name.

All the fighting, and the anger,
and all the hatred and pain,
has not changed in sixty years
nor since the days of Cain.

Vietnam brought Agent Orange
and poisons by the ton
to kill brave men by evil ways:
This war was never won.

The Middle East, Afghanistan,
pollution, drugs, and crime . . .
Horror--death just multiplies
time after time after time.

All the fighting, and the anger,
and all the hatred and pain,
has not changed in sixty years
nor since the days of Cain.