TheSpinningDemon

There was a soldier fighting for a cause, A little boy who battled for his land. A gun in arm, he killed for Statesmen's laws And politics he didn't understand. He was a hero to his little town And bravely fought for friends and family. And when his plane was suddenly shot down, His death was mourned with great solemnity. Too young to live, but old enough to die, His grave was shared with fifty other men. His name was called amid a trumpet's cry, Then, never did they speak of him again. You may not know whose side the child was on, Nor know the faces of the foes he fought, But knowing that the boy is dead and gone, The politics