I Have No Gift Of Words, But

When You're Wounded And Left On Afghanistan's Plains, And The Women Come Out To Cut Up What Remains, Jest Roll To Your Rifle And Blow Out Your Brains And Go To Your Gawd Like A Soldier.

Many Wear The Robes, But Few Walk The Way." The Lama In Kim

Cities And Thrones And Powers Stand In Time's Eye, Almost As Long As Flowers, Which Daily Die

Men, Not Children Or Servants, Tempered And Taught To The End; Cleansed Of Servile Panic, Slow To Dread Or Despise, Humble Because Of Knowledge, Mighty By Sacrifice.

The American Has No Language, He Has A Dialect, Slang, Provincialism, Accent And So Forth