Two Poems on the Eve of Battle, by Eugene Volokh
War is a young man’s profession,
The old men correctly say.
Father, hear this, my confession:
I thank God I’m not young today.
In my youth, the world was quiet,
No-one called me off to war.
Who can blame me? Should it shame me?
Just got lucky, nothing more.
Write a poem now, stay at home now,
I am safely thirty-four.
[volokh at law.ucla.edu]