"Fighting South of the City" by Li Bai

White bones are the only crop in these yellow sands.

There seems no end to the fighting.
In the wilderness men hack one another to pieces.
Riderless horses neigh madly to the sky:
Kites and crows tear out human entrails,
And fly with them and hand them
In branches of dead trees:
The blood of soldiers smears grass and brambles:
What use is a commander without his troops?
War is a fearful thing—
And the wise prince resorts to it only if he must.

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