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Tilling the Man (poem)

By Horace Coleman

When a most famous warrior leaves

the playing field for the slaying field,

it's not "wise" when his demise is by

the hand of some one in the same command.

When friendly fire tears friendly flesh,

war's haze can fill a maze of lies.

It began with those who chose

to burn the slain man's clothes.

By unwritten regulation (and with no hesitation),

those higher up the chain tried to bury

the blame before the man and avoid shame

by overly praising his already glittering name.

As usual, it was the stupid lie, not the anxious deed, that

announced fate's crime with a loud cracked chime.

—Horace Coleman