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๐“๐ก๐ž ๐€๐ซ๐ฆ๐ฒ ๐จ๐Ÿ ๐ญ๐ก๐ž ๐‘๐ž๐ญ๐ข๐ซ๐ž๐

They are the only army that will fight.
(The regulars have mostly gone to ground.)
The only soldiers who will stand for right โ€”
Their shackled comrades dare not make a sound.
The regulars are silenced โ€” gagged and bound,
Intimidated โ€” forced down on their knees.
No more are they for bravery renowned;
They have their orders โ€” run, retreat, appease.
They are the victims of the new disease โ€”
They are afflicted by postmodern germs.
With heads bowed low, pale platitudes they wheeze.
But those whoโ€™ve served are free to state their terms:
They wonโ€™t be silenced by the baying mobs.
Theyโ€™ll fight with words. (They donโ€™t fear for their jobs.)

โ€” D.N. Oโ€™Brien