The Art of War

A ribbon blue for painting roses red,

An unnamed plaque for second place as well.

The first was he who made the paint to shed.

The second never lived to tell his tale.

Rewarded with a resting place of stone,

The runner up no consolation won.

His house of stone is home to him alone.

A piece of tin sent to his wife and son.

Particiation prize if you come back,

A mural for your mem'ry when you fall,

The brushstrokes red like sunset o'er the shore.

A ribbon for the widow all in black,

A ribbon in exchange for living soul,

The prizes for the crimson art of war.