As Europe sets sights on her arms' grand revival,
'Tis thwarted by the grip of paper's survival.
From Danish forge where hot bullets were born,
Lay silenced, in cash's cold shadow, forlorn.
A misjudgment fell upon Hezbollah's schemes,
Israel's might, not as frail as in dreams.
Red was reset the deadly board of war,
Yet peril lurks as evermore.
In bunker bathed in earth's cold sweat,
Israel struck a blow, eternal debt.
The shadowed Nasrallah felt the blade's cruel kiss,
In darkness ends a tale of turbulent abyss.
