Little Drummer Boy
Ratta tat tat, as he taps on his drum
The war isn’t over, it’s just begun
He’ll play that drum until the moon shines bright
He’ll play that drum till the stars come out at night
With bullets flying over head
He looks around and sees the dead
Explosions and smoke lace the air
But still he runs, and plays his drum
He wants to cry but shows no fear
Fear is something forbidden here
To prove his self among the men
Is what he dreams of again and again
With tears streaming down his cheeks
He charges faster, anger at its peak
He grabs a dead soldier’s gun and fires
To kill an enemy is his only desire
But angry like a ravaging dogs bark
Suddenly, everything goes dark
As he falls to the ground and looks over at the others,
The Little drummer boy thinks only of. . .
. . .His mother. . .
*I'm a huge history nerd and one night in high school, this poem came to mind.
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