Fevered Mind

A poem by Sydney Stone. I do not own the image.

***

Soldiers come marching four abreast,

Beseeching loyalist hearts to rest,

Until ‘pon yonder hill they crest,

They who put young men to test,

In roaring thunder and pounding gun,

Thusly starts the warhawk’s fun,

Testing hearts-measure against the sum,

Those who falter are ‘pon the gallows hung,

And in the aftermath on the eve,

The victors to the hilltop cleave,

The innocent yearn for some reprieve,

Now that silence is achieved,

What was won? What was lost?

For the young lads hardened in frost,

Empty gazes declaring ultimate cost,

All victories are hollow for the lost.