105th ENGINEER COMBAT BATTALION

Arising, six green lights from black space tend
The point, a mathematical release
Of stored death, flow of life-blood, late to cease
But soon to know the flying wind, last friend
To gallant hearts. The planes that rarely find
Simplicity of strife record strange wrath
On charts and dials but never tempt the path
Of man's blunt hate to own the pilot's mind.

The purse your lips, O generals, and place
Your military unit where you will, for rock
In youth is durable stuff to carve and brace.
Strong eyes will not turn back, hard lips not mock
The ever-trenchant rule the captains give
That they alone destroy, return, and live.