March

• Jono Dove, Grade 8
• Poetry
• 2005

Rat-a-tat-tat, the martial tune
Rat-a-tat-tat, that the men march to
Rat-a-tat-tat, with their heads held high
Rat-a-tat-tat, and pride in their eyes

But here on the field, there are no drummers
The only sound, the snap of gunfire and the screams …
The screams of the dead and dying

Rat-tat-tat, the beat is slower
Rat-tat-tat, the war is won
Rat-tat-tat, but at what price
Rat-tat-tat, they march again now
Rat-tat-tat, there are far fewer
Rat-tat-tat, heads still held high
Rat-tat-tat, but those who look, see
Rat-tat-tat, the pain in their eyes.