LITTLE LEAD SOLDIER

Bemoaning the fact that flesh can be torn by bullets and hearts be stilled by death.

Little lead soldier on the war-game board,

dance as the bullets flash by,

little lead soldiers with your tarnished paint

try not to fall down and die.

Little lead soldiers all in a row

walk into a hail of death,

and little lead soldiers pray thanks that you weren't

ever bestowed with breath.

For not far away and over the hill

the children are sent out instead

and when they fall down in each blood-stained hail

they're still as the night, and they're dead,

And the Masters of War with their maps and their plans

and orders without any thought

lurk in their bunkers and cackle aloud

at battles that end up as nought.

And little lead soldier, the flowers all wilt

on the graves as they lie so still,

and little lead soldier, be grateful, my friend,

that lead is not something you kill.

Reviews

[Alexander Dillon]

Powerful, thank you for sharing.