Questions Of A Certain Sort (There Is No Gain To Ask) Poem by Terry Dawson

It's natures way that young men stand
As one against the foe
To guard the things they hold most dear
And reckless hazard life and limb
'Gainst they who bear them threat.

In time the conflict's course is run
The outcome as it may.
Great sorrow weighs on those bereaved
Who bear a awful load.
And presently they'll weigh in scales
Past hopes against the cost
And wonder if potential gains
Could justify the loss.

Questions of a certain sort
There is no gain to ask.
Reason's powers hold no sway
In blind fates senseless realm.
And tortured those that yet pursue
Answers which must elude
But peace of mind have those who know
The great earth's ancient way:
The toll levied upon the few
In general serves the whole.