Deathfield

• Rushil D'cruz, Grade 5
• Poetry
• 2009

He walked across the battlefield,
A lone figure he was.
Staring at the bloodied bodies,
Figuring out their cause.

He sharpened his blade,
And stabbed a body.
Because it suddenly moved.

And all of a sudden,
Out of his head,
Blood began to ooze.

He turned around,
And swung wildly,
His sword a blur of colour.

He heard a thud,
He’s body collapsed,
He’s face a deathly pallor.