In a jungle hell where soldiers fought
And guns spat death on white and black,
One made a target of himself
To bring a wounded brother back.
Where sad eyes met in a bamboo hut,
Each lying on a sodden bed,
They had the same bewidlered thought:
All human blood is red . . . is red!
The rivers run incarnadine
Down to a restless sea
Whose tides will cleanse the murky flood.
They saw the vision distantly.
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