Promoted with minor edits by Steven D.
This diary is dedicated to all who suffer because of war
we love and support our troops, just as we love and support the Iraqi people – without exception, or precondition, or judgment
we have no sympathy for the devil
A woman identifies the bodies of two of her three sons, who were all killed by gunmen, from a hospital morgue in Baquba, 65 km (40 miles) northeast of Baghdad, November 21, 2006.
REUTERS/Helmiy al-Azawi (IRAQ)
After Callimachus
by Stephen Burt
Cover me quietly, stone.
I wrote verse. I meant little in life,
blamed few and injured none;
I tried to get along.
My writings kept me warm.
If I with my featherlight pen
confused prestige with worth,
praised evil, or ever wronged
the few who wanted a fight,
allow me, generous earth,
to do no further harm–
let me atone in my sleep;
I with my good will,
so lightly and often given,
who rest with nothing to keep,
and nothing to offer heaven.
