A poem considering the greatness of America's begginings, and how that affecs life today.
A flintlock musket sits in the lap
of a nervous, teenage boy.
He'd never really liked ideas of war;
and this was not a toy.
He's about to contest crustaceans,
to press on against all odds.
The reason for his actions?
To make his own darn laws!
Here come the British troops, no doubt:
'hear that thundrous noise?
His company rises to a stand,
and shows the best of poise.
The fighting then commences,
the air is filled with smoke.
Our little man knows not how hes' doing,
every shot's a grope!
Finnaly, there is a sting
that punches through the gut.
A quick glance down, his stomach's red,
now up again-
He's flat upon his back.
The world is getting greyer but
he still can still see Brits
running from the battlefeild, like silly little wimps.
His corpral kneels down beside,
says: "Johnny, you saved the day!"
That brave adult's
ball and shot
had peirced the lutenent's brain.
With that comfort, a parting soul flew high,
never to return again, never to say bye.
It's liberty that man died for,
and freedom under God.
Must we have another war,
to give that notion laud?