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My Son, The Drummer Boy

My son, the drummer boy.
Barely thirteen, will march off
To this civil war.
I hope and pray
I will see him again on earth
Before I see him in heaven.
His father is dead.
His brothers are lost.
There will be no man of the house left.
His sisters and I fear for his life.
The enemy cares not if
They cause me another reason to grieve.
I told my son, the drummer boy,
That the most important thing of all
To remember is to keep your mother's
And sisters' love in your heart.

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Comments

I assume this is a poem about the war between the states. It well displays what a family might be thinking as a member goes off to war. Now as to the poem itself. Somebody once warned me about something he called a "word wall" which is a poem which is of any length that has no stanza breaks. He told me it often is a bit daunting for a reader and thus often passed over. I think this might be correct. I also think stanzas are kinda like paragraphs. They give a reader a place where they can pause and think about what they just read instead of having to try and digest the poem all at once. Just something you might think about...........stan

Thank you Stan.
Jeff

Jeffrey Mark Fleischer

author comment

I like your poem that touches on the life and death of small children in a civil war that has been called the children war because so many participants were 18 years and even younger. I learned that the drumbeat served more than to keep the troops at an even pace. "Both soldiers and drummers had to learn which drumroll meant “meet here” and which meant “attack now” and which meant “retreat” and all the other commands of battlefield and camp. The most exciting drum call was “the long roll,” which was the signal to attack. . . ."
What disturbs me is that mother's would not be guided by their motherly instinct to protect their boys, but to (more or less) enthusiastically give in to patriotism that caused the death of more than half a million boys and men on both sides. Pathetic! Mothers displayed the same enthusiasm at the outbreak of WWI, offering up their loved ones to the gods of war. "My son, the fallen soldier," many would proudly declare. Good poem that takes me back to a time that's bound to be repeated.
Ali

Thank you, Ali,
Jeff

Jeffrey Mark Fleischer

author comment
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