Premature Souls

A war hawk's rattle,

A chickenhawk come battle;

back out the saddle.

The change was profound,

Goliath to David bound.

The first gone to ground.

All that remained

when sol set on the scrum,

were premature souls

soaked in pools of plum.

Meaningless totems

bequeathed to their orphaned sons,

medals and ribbons.