54.            SMALL TACTICS

We leave no trace of a big mess
And the few we left behind
As they lick their wounds
And pick at old fruit
Of a lost dream of an operation.
Sometimes they play chess
And sometimes they fight king and country.
Sometimes they play the spook
And sometimes hunt their own.
How can life be so cruel
To these dear ones,
The hunters and the hunted?
If the peacemaker debate
The small tactics of hate
And find the answers
In a sweet love date.
Leaving a little difference to date,
His efforts were not too late.