The lad marched toy soldiers,

up and down the counterpane,

in sham battles and skirmishes-

indoor games for a day of rain.

Pretend guns rat-a-tat

amid the cannon's boom,

bloodless, deathless victories

rang through the room.

At battle's end, the soldiers

were carefully put away,

still shiny, bright, and stalwart

to fight another day.

The lad, now a man

leads his platoon

over the battlefield,

flesh and blood soldiers

with real guns to wield.

Every man a hero,

his heart set to win,

some to be struck down

in the bullet's din,

some mortally wounded,

to lay deathly still,

battles and skirmishes

to take an enemy hill.

The lad, now a man, sheds tears

for the men in his platoon,

who have paid the highest price,

their life cut down too soon.

They are not toy soldiers,

carefully put away,

not shiny, bright, or stalwart

to fight another day.

12/16/2004

Posted on 12/17/2004
Copyright © 2026 Jane E Pearce