The hollow empty beating of the tin drum
Crunch of the dry, brittle, leaves of yesteryear
The flaming sun soaked up by wool
Reflecting glares of tarnished silver muskets
Stone faces, poised, terrified
Soldiers showing bravery, honor
Methodically marching, moving in the early morn
The air, incensed with silent prayer
Petrifying silence
Roaring, startling shout of the bugle rising
Pouncing upon the unsuspecting prey
Boom! Bang! Screams! Shouts! Commands!
Boys forged into men in a fiery instant
The cream uniforms stained with red anger
Day dying into the calming, cold, night
Counting the lifeless corpses
Of fathers, sons, brothers, lovers
The survivors spending a sleepless night dreading the dawn
