Pack your bags again, my children.
The slobbering octogenarians, wetting
Their undergarments below the rotunda,
Are squawking.  It's time for another war.
They won't be going, of course.  They'll
Send you, and they'll do so, despite what
Is painfully evident:  Russians will fight
To their deaths.  They don't lose, while
Our forces falter even when facing
Guerillas without any shoes.