They March To Their Deaths
I'm sitting in the window sill.
Watching
As our boys march their way to Death's Door.
Little boys
Playing soldier.
Mama weeps,
I want to weep
Too.
But the tears won't come.
I'm so cold.
My dear brother Will
Has a gun.
Now I want to laugh.
It's so
Ridiculous.
He's so gentle.
To think him on the battlefield.
And the little ones think this so
Grand.
They wavelittle flags.
Yell 'God save the Queen'.
I pray 'God save the soldiers'.
But they just laugh.
I want to smack them.
Shake them.
Make them understand.
Not one of our boys is coming
Back.