The two Marines rushed headlong to a brawl,
An altercation in between ten men,
Of whom but six were certainly deceased,
Their vicious, wicked lives cut short by slug.
Goodfellow asked, “What’s going on in here?”
The six gazed icily into their eyes,
Conspiring plans unspoken to the rest,
And then reset their icy stares upon
The peacekeepers who now confronted them.
And then the oldest man, a bluehair, spoke:
“There’s nothing here to see, good officers.
Please kindly take your playthings and vamoose.”
The others, saying nothing, backed him up;
They made designs to utilize their force.
Goodfellow dropped his piece, but Fortiss stayed
In state, prepared to carry out his vows
And so fulfill his duty to his land,
The task he had signed up to carry out,
But the Goodfellow lad pulled on his arm,
And cautioned, “Do what they now talk about.”