At the Gates: A poem inspired by Livy’s thoughts on Hannibal

Shall I compare thee to a foolish Greek? 

Whose blade has slaughtered countless Roman throats. 

“Perfidy worse than Punic” oh so bleak. 

A lack of fides hath no antidote. 

A demon spawn from the first Punic War.

A man who swore to never be our friend. 

At Trasimene Roman blood spilled galore. 

Republic’s doom; it did indeed impend. 

“Hannibal ad portas!” Children, take heed!

No heat or cold can shake his iron will. 

A fearless fighter of inhuman speed. 

Even a lady he will try to kill. 

But fear not sons of Romulus, we fight!

For Jupiter anoint our blades tonight!