THANK YOU, BACCHUS

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THANK YOU, BACCHUS


Thank you, Bacchus. You let me go,
Freed me from your treacherous hold.

The enemy's army caught our ranks unaware;
Our generals had failed to figure on all-out assault.
An awful panic ensued.
I had not the time to grab my boots.
I ran across the Sinai.
I hoped to survive and make it home.
Though still early morning, yet the sand was hot.
Before too long my feet were sorely burned.
Snipers hid among the rocks and hills;
They shot and killed us, almost everyone.

Thank you Bacchus. You let me go,
Freed me from your treacherous hold.

I crossed the Nile and my injuries healed,
From death in the desert, abandoned and alone,
Your grace had saved me.
Now I share this marvelous tale;
The troops in rout and I had prevailed. 

*Bacchus is the Roman god of wine; he has a number of darker associations, one of them is the disorder apparent when an army suffers a calamitous defeat.