I had once thought us too different
to be worth the trouble.
I don’t think I could ever
die for a cause.
But neither did you.
You were not made
of saint-stuff; martyrdom was, in the end,
just another necessary mask.
It all comes down
to the question of duty, doesn’t it?
That, and grammar:
take out the subject
and the whole epigram
falls
to
pieces.