Victory Woods, Or the Battle of Saratoga
That day in the October sun
The British they marched along
Across Mater Barber’s wheat field
A force in red, quite strong.
The drummer drummed, fifers they played
We heard their martial song,
And we leapt out to meet out foes
To break that scarlet throng
When the British came along.
From our guns, hot fire leapt
Trumpeting the fray,
The lobsterbacks, down they went
Not long here cold they stay.
Another volley and they broke
Then turned to run away.
We pushed at them in hot pursuit
Our hearts intent to slay
Our guns trumpeting the fray.
They ran headlong that afternoon
To earthworks and redoubts,
Denying us the pleasure
Of a quick and easy rout.
We charged the wall repeatedly,
To club and kill those louts.
They repulsed us so many times,
They knew how to build stout,
Those earthworks and redoubts.
Then a general a cabin saw
His name shall not be said,
For crimes committed later on
That nearly cost us our heads.
He saw a weak-point in the line
His troops that way did tread,
A strike to turn the tide that day
He left those British dead.
But his name will not be said!
The line it broke, the British ran
The minutemen gave chase.
Paste their camp, they took the plunder
Capturing many in haste.
Redcoats ran to Old Saratoga
A frightful, desperate race,
And settled in to lick their wounds
Hoping hard to hold that place,
But the minutemen gave chase.
But John Bull face an arduous task
Oblivion did Burgoyne see
Outnumbered by a tough, game foe
Who surrounded everything.
His Hessians broken, bloody, sore
Sheltered only by some trees.
He came out and laid down his sword,
In those woods of victory.
In a wood called victory.
Copyright © David Welch | Year Posted 2017
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