Poets

Oh, age has come and brought me fifteen years And perhaps with it, Joy will come too. Youth still dances with these years

In her pen she lies in wait A fluster of feathers and feet surround her Every small beady eye glistens with hope and fear As they swivel in their sockets

Soldier, Soldier, born for war Shoots a man and kills more and more Soldier, soldier, a man with steel, Born to kill, born to die.