I have always been alarmed by the ease with which a sand castle is stomped down by a bully.
We usually do not think of field hands when we think of war. Not so for Virgil, that lover of cultivated fields: in singing of war he reminds us of husbandmen. A close look at war, its past and its present, makes clear who often suffers the most—the poor, the laborers, those whose work with their hands sustains human life in its daily needs.
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