Private Ryan
Down beside a stream that flowed red
Lilies stained from the wounds that bled
Short shallow breaths escaped him by
The troops at salute, watched him die
And with one last effort, he bawled
“For life, for home, for bread, for broad”
Ryan was a rather vague kid
He wasn’t the kind pegged to lead
But one day the big, big man knocked
And handed him a shotgun, cocked
Go, Ryan, we’re in grave danger and
Only your strength can save our land
And so, like others, Ryan went
I’m sure ‘twas the fifth week of Lent
To join the other kids and boys
Who had been given lethal toys
Because they were in danger and
Only their strength could save the land
Their first fight was at Old Burgoyne
It was Ryan’s first battle won
But there too, he saw Death firsthand
The pain the “saving” did demand
And watched his comrades slip away
Into chaos each passing day
But Ryan went on, resolute
Brass saw him the perfect recruit
With each shot, his poor soul went prone
With each death brush, his heart went stone
And at night they would slip inside
With broad, and beer and bread beside
He sloshed many a foeman dead
His kiddy hands all shone blood-red
Till they had to take the ghyll
And there a bullet crushed his skull
And his comrades watch him fade
His last charge in the South Brigade
They held his funeral in state
With the others who shared his fate
In a grave so large and so wide
They fit ten thousand more inside
Then they gave someone else his gun
For they had to save “everyone”
The big man stopped by Ryan’s door
This time he came for the neighbour
With urgent cries, John got a nuke
The big man cried, his body shook
Quick, there’re people we have to save
The reds have risen from their grave
Copyright © Afam Ugwuanyi | Year Posted 2025
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