Red Sap (A War Poem) Poem by Ianaldo Prescott Pourchot

Hands and boots,
On the floor and on the hillside.
Hands and boots,
stomping and producing—
RED SAP!
With a sigh I am mourning,
As I watch their souls soaring.
RED SAP!
On their shivering hands—
Dripping from their aching backs,
RED SAP!
Falling on their rifles,
The silver bullet gently trifles,
RED SAP!
They fall like the sap from a tree.
Lying in the ground—and all we can see,
Are bodies rotting in the morning dew.
The soldiers’
Their hands and their boots