Diplomacy vs. Warfare: A Nation’s Dilemma

I’m the leader of a grand, ancient nation,
With wisdom carved deep in civilisation.
We’ve pondered life’s purpose, the stars, and our fate,
But my government’s got a new urge they can’t sate.

They’re keen on a squabble with foes far away,
With tech so advanced they don’t need to delay.
This small distant land, with weapons refined,
Could zap us all out at the drop of a line.

For they’ve got missiles with magical flair,
That find me wherever, yes, anywhere.
It’s futile to duck or dive or scoot,
This missile’s locked onto my very boot.

So here I sit, all anxious and grey,
As my government taunts them day by day.
I plead and I beg, “Can’t we call this a truce?”
But they’re grinning like cats let loose on the goose.

Then word arrives with a rumbling roar,
My adversary’s launched their debating war!
A missile en route, aimed straight at my head,
With a blast range wide enough to leave us all dead.

Now here’s my grand choice, with little reprieve:
Run to the desert or just never leave.
I could flee alone, let my legacy burn,
Or march to the palace, and take them in turn.

So I’m off to the halls where policies brew,
To sit with the lot who’ve landed me through—
If I’m going down, then down we’ll all go,
In the ultimate lesson: “I told you so.”