The shrouded travelers cross the desert sand
As other eyes watch from a distant land.
She knows among these tribesmen walk the foe,
But which are they? And can the watcher know?
As one they raise their eyes towards the sky;
A speck of dust, it drones far off and high,
Just like a bird but somehow not the same,
Then from it comes a flash, a spurt of flame.
The predator has marked its target well
And from its maw it spits the fires of hell.
The guilty and the innocent alike
Have but an instant left before the strike.
And at her console continents away
She rises from her task at end of day
And to her home along the highway drives:
The soldier who from safety takes men’s lives.
She runs a bath and there reclines to soak;
Tries to forget the carnage and the smoke.
The action carried out with good intent,
But doubts of what’s been done will not relent.
The button pressed, the missile gone – too late!
Once it is launched it can’t discriminate.