/lit/ - Literature

>>20434627
Final update. Ofc I`m not yet happy with it, as I need to go and read a whole shitload of poetry to git gud, but it seems less disjointed.

He signed up for the pomp and flair,
The tight white gloves and the close-cropped hair,
of a procession in D.C.,
or the dark dusty faces, the heroes and aces,
of a war film on T.V.,
But at the tip of the spear,
the bhearna bhaoil,
there wasn`t shouting,
nor storming,
nor onslaught of hail,
And one two zero,
the tungsten-tipped phantom,
seemed now not so different,
from uncle Will`s magnum,
With her deafening crack,
and the smoke that would cloud her,
his steed was like the Colt,
only a nation louder,
And with a flash of yellow,
it was the same sharp bellow,
when a Russian hit their powder.