The air is cold and damp
As his steps meld through the grass;
The moon shine is his lamp,
A brother’s blood and gunpowder, his mass.
Late and early have melted into one.
The ground beats beneath his boots
As the sixty of them carry their guns
Somewhere not far off an owl gives hoot.
He is scared but he is
Surely not lost away;
The cause is full and his,
Though this is the only day.
He gave a beggar a coin,
And that thought keeps him warm;
He decided his fate was to join,
But knows this can’t be the norm;
Lead balls made of fire
Were not of God’s intention
But wars and cruel liars
Are side effect to freedom’s creation.