WAR

by: James Russell Lowell (1819-1891)

Z fer war, I call it murder,--

There you hev it plain an' flat;

I don't want to go no furder

Than my Testyment fer that....

They may talk o' Freedom's airy

Tell they'er pupple in the face,--

It's a grand gret cemetary

Fer the barthrights of our race;

They jest want this Californy

So's to lug new slave-states in

To abuse ye, an' scorn ye,

An' to plunder ye like sin.

This poem has messed up weirds but makes me wonder.