Nature has no cruelty but is.
Simply is, the red streak of the hawk
circling lawns with no more hostile thought
than Mr Jones circling the Sunday
buffet with its blood red trench of fruit.
But in the War of Wars cruelty
was a lackluster state of being.
Biplanes dressed in weapons and linen
watching hell erupt from the trenches
and then they were attacked, attacking
taking their turns with the enemy
at being the mad, red hawks of war
(this is,btw, a challenge for syllabic verse. 9 syllables to be precise.