POWDER MONKEY

The powder monkey
Lies dead on board
His fifteenth birthday
A silent chord
When battle ceases
They bury the dead
Collected fragments
Legs, arms and heads.

The cannons will rest
Metal to cool
Day to night
A weeping moon
To watch over
Bodies strewn
Mothers children
Dead too soon.

War is war
The Captains say
They will write a book
Make battle pay
While powder monkeys
Mothers pray
Alone at fireside
It is the way.