Forms arise from the depths in dark,
Some boys, yet others hardened men
That drill together once again
In April’s pungent smoke, as stark
As shadow-play ‘pon Lexington.
The drums of empire fade with dawn
As orders crisp ring in the air.
Two silent foes stand, eyes of glare
And lines of battle quickly drawn
Upon the green of village where
Militiamen stand still as one.
Men do not move one single hair
As if prepared to take this dare
Of wills, as wars are lost or won,
Within red wave of morning fair.
Still air is ripped as shots ring out
To bloody men who fall to ground
And start a war that soon will found
A country whose men run in rout.
King’s regulars give same shrill sound
They soon shall hear on road to Doubt.
Eric M. Vogt