His soul styled as French
The general was raised in
Corsica, where he reached
Heights he delighted in
Mathematics, the beginnings
Of a battle plan, a strategy
The land was as orderly
As Fibannaci's Golden Ratio
Reaching up to Heaven's
Command his discipline
Mirrored upright mathematics
Clean and free of some emotions
His campaigns ran far
And wide from Egypt to
Syria to Italy to Russia
To Poland to Portugal
To Spain to Germany
To his surrender at Waterloo
The Louvre and all it's
Dramatic colours
There were not warpaints
But preserves for the future
All the bloodshed would
Be as ink split over the
Masterpieces that remain
And so they were kept
Elsewhere lives could be lost
But our history wasn't forgotten
A body of work, His design.

by Zubyre Parvez

Comments (1)

a poem of a life who was generally loved and adored by his followers? ............well written