Had we done everything we could, the day

would not have turned out as it did, would not

have ended with the providential shot

straight through the warp and weft of that array.

 

Had we but done our jobs, there would not stand

th’immortal image of the wounded man

the half-inverted flag beside the fist

upraised, at once a call to arms and itself

 

victory. But our failure to act

meant something else: we serve a greater lord,

a higher cause, not of our own accord

but according to a predetermined track.

 

So providence bends all to serve its will

just as it bent the bullet from the kill.