Opening Poem

Soldier Boy

 

The Green fields of yesteryear, for once I stood as a boy. A drummer boy with a beating drum as we march together through the fields. Friends, Family, and Neighbors by my side.

Each step taken is unique. The drumbeats quicken or slowly match the rhythm and tempo of our march. Not a man's but a boy’s heart quickens as the guns fire, beating the drum across the field.

 

The beat continues to be played on through the fields, step by step. Our dead and their dead falling to the ground, to the beats of the drums … Yells of soldiers in the distance upon green-laden fields now stained with blood, the cries of God, and sorrows of pain wore on.

The boy is drumming, drumming marching on the fields for now a man has picked up the drum. Home, I turn and face the road where once I walked that field alone as a boy, now a man.

 

Green fields lay before me, with the drum in my hand. Mother, Father, I am coming; I am coming home.

The drumbeat is still now except for the wind of yesteryear years waiting, now picking up the drum.

By

Eric J. Shepherd