Backyard Army
Backyard Army
When brooms become muskets,
Mops sabers wild.
When pots become helmets,
It's fun for a child.
Round Momma's roses,
They march their brigade
They trample her tulips,
In a mad escapade.
Thump, thump, thump,
Goes the little toy drum.
Oh hear the bugle,
And the military hum.
When the boys have grown taller,
When we call them men.
Will they dream of the battle,
As they did then?
When they marched round the roses.
A glad little gang.
With their little toy rifles,
They yell Bang, bang.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
