THE FEVER OF FEAR

Cannons are bursting hot metal from the ground.
Soldiers are looting and burning our town.
The fever of fear rushes through my veins,
As too many Bluecoats jump from troop trains.

Smoke from hot barrels is swirling around,
As four thousand muskets volley their sound.
All of my comrades have stopped a lead ball;
Most cry out, then stumble and fall.

Even the young lad who carried our flag,
Now he lies dead as he clings to that rag.
Wagons with the wounded trail blood on the ground,
Death and destruction are easily found.

The Generals are crying 'cause they can't stand defeat;
But it's always the soldier who dies on his feet.
Horse hooves are pounding on a bridge made of boards,
As the sunlight reflects from the blades of their swords.

Quickly I hide out in the roots of a tree,
Where the dirt has eroded and there's just room for me.
After dark I sneak out with the cover of fog,
Then float down the river, as I cling to a log.

Songs of their victory, ring out through the night,
While from the cold, muddy water, I see their firelight.
It makes me remember my old country church,
Where the preacher spoke God's word from his holy perch.

That the seed of all conflict began in a cave;
When man, like the wild wolf had to prove he was brave.

By Tom Zart

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