The Twelve Dancing Princesses
If you danced from midnight
to six A.M. who would understand?
The runaway boy
who chucks it all
to live on the Boston Common
on speed and saltines,
pissing in the duck pond,
rapping with the street priest,
trading talk like blows,
another missing person,
would understand.
The paralytic's wife
who takes her love to town,
sitting on the bar stool,
downing stingers and peanuts,
singing 'That ole Ace down in the hole,'
would understand.
The passengers
from Boston to Paris
watching the movie with dawn
coming up like statues of honey,
having partaken of champagne and steak
while the world turned like a toy globe,
those murderers of the nightgown
would understand.
The amnesiac
who tunes into a new neighborhood,
having misplaced the past,
having thrown out someone else's
credit cards and monogrammed watch,
would understand.
The drunken poet
(a genius by daylight)
who places long-distance calls
at three A.M. and then lets you sit
holding the phone while he vomits
(he calls it 'The Night of the Long Knives')
getting his kicks out of the death call,
would understand.
The insomniac
listening to his heart
thumping like a June bug,
listening on his transistor
to Long John Nebel arguing from New York,
lying on his bed like a stone table,
would understand.
The night nurse
with her eyes slit like Venetian blinds,
she of the tubes and the plasma,
listening to the heart monitor,
the death cricket bleeping,
she who calls you 'we'
and keeps vigil like a ballistic missile,
would understand.
Once
this king had twelve daughters,
each more beautiful than the other.
They slept together, bed by bed
in a kind of girls' dormitory.
At night the king locked and bolted the door
. How could they possibly escape?
Yet each morning their shoes
were danced to pieces.
Each was as worn as an old jockstrap.
The king sent out a proclamation
that anyone who could discover
where the princesses did their dancing
could take his pick of the litter.
However there was a catch.
If he failed, he would pay with his life.
Well, so it goes.
Many princes tried,
each sitting outside the dormitory,
the door ajar so he could observe
what enchantment came over the shoes.
But each time the twelve dancing princesses
gave the snoopy man a Mickey Finn
and so he was beheaded.
Poof! Like a basketball.
It so happened that a poor soldier
heard about these strange goings on
and decided to give it a try.
On his way to the castle
he met an old old woman.
Age, for a change, was of some use.
She wasn't stuffed in a nursing home.
She told him not to drink a drop of wine
and gave him a cloak that would make
him invisible when the right time came.
And thus he sat outside the dorm.
The oldest princess brought him some wine
but he fastened a sponge beneath his chin,
looking the opposite of Andy Gump.
The sponge soaked up the wine,
and thus he stayed awake.
He feigned sleep however
and the princesses sprang out of their beds
and fussed around like a Miss America Contest.
Then the eldest went to her bed
and knocked upon it and it sank into the earth.
They descended down the opening
one after the other. They crafty soldier
put on his invisible cloak and followed.
Yikes, said the youngest daughter,
something just stepped on my dress.
But the oldest thought it just a nail.
Next stood an avenue of trees,
each leaf make of sterling silver.
The soldier took a leaf for proof.
The youngest heard the branch break
and said, Oof! Who goes there?
But the oldest said, Those are
the royal trumpets playing triumphantly.
The next trees were made of diamonds.
He took one that flickered like Tinkerbell
and the youngest said: Wait up! He is here!
But the oldest said: Trumpets, my dear.
Next they came to a lake where lay
twelve boats with twelve enchanted princes
waiting to row them to the underground castle.
The soldier sat in the youngest's boat
and the boat was as heavy as if an icebox
had been added but the prince did not suspect.
Next came the ball where the shoes did duty.
The princesses danced like taxi girls at Roseland
as if those tickets would run right out.
They were painted in kisses with their secret hair
and though the soldier drank from their cups
they drank down their youth with nary a thought.
Cruets of champagne and cups full of rubies.
They danced until morning and the sun came up
naked and angry and so they returned
by the same strange route. The soldier
went forward through the dormitory and into
his waiting chair to feign his druggy sleep.
That morning the soldier, his eyes fiery
like blood in a wound, his purpose brutal
as if facing a battle, hurried with his answer
as if to the Sphinx. The shoes! The shoes!
The soldier told. He brought forth
the silver leaf, the diamond the size of a plum.
He had won. The dancing shoes would dance
no more. The princesses were torn from
their night life like a baby from its pacifier.
Because he was old he picked the eldest.
At the wedding the princesses averted their eyes
and sagged like old sweatshirts.
Now the runaways would run no more and never
again would their hair be tangled into diamonds,
never again their shoes worn down to a laugh,
never the bed falling down into purgatory
to let them climb in after
with their Lucifer kicking.
poem by Anne Sexton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Soldier's Ghost
I bled for you - would you for me?
I blessed a skin in blazing fuel
Then took a bullet in a duel of
‘He or I to Die.'
I often question ‘Why? '
Do you?
My country was my life to give -
Would you for country cease to live?
Sinking in a mire of death,
You have no choice -
So while you're still alive,
Rejoice!
I cried in failure - did you care?
And as I waned, were you aware of
What I did -?
Fighting for my country while you hid
Behind your comfort back at home?
Still relaxed?
My wife and child are fading at the tomb.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier soldier
Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier
Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier
Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier soldier soldier war
Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier
war war war war war war war war war war war war
war war war war war war war war war war war war
war war war war war war war war war war war war
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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In A Soldier...You Will Find...
In a soldier...
Loyalty and strength you see.
In a soldier...
Discipline, bravery.
In a soldier...
A world that is free.
In a soldier..
Sacrifice, so the world can be free.
In a soldier...
No compromise.
In a soldier...
Courage in his eyes.
In a soldier...
A special bond.
In a soldier...
Iraq, Viet-Nam.
In a soldier...
Sad, drooped eyes.
In a soldier...
Pain, when a buddy dies.
In a soldier...
Terrible places.
In a soldier...
Tough, grim faces.
In a soldier...
Stories untold.
In a soldier...
Action makes him old.
In a soldier...
Dark, frightening nights.
In a soldier...
Missing his lovely wife.
In a soldier...
Memories of a decent life.
In a soldier...
Scars deep in the mind.
In a soldier...
An exploding mine.
In a soldier...
The thrill of leaving war.
In a soldier...
No more pains anymore.
In a soldier...
No more tears.
In a soldier...
Leaving war, after a long, trying year.
poem by Philip Lore
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Deaf Gunpowder
Come on soldier.
Soldier?
Get off of your battlefield
Let me take you to a place
Where your weapons are sealed.
Come on soldier.
Soldier?
Look me in the eye
Your heart hasn’t chosen to be here
Then why are you here?
Ask yourself why.
Come on soldier.
Soldier?
It’s time to breathe
It’s time to stop fighting for your life,
For something you don’t believe.
Hey soldier?
Soldier?
I do understand
It wasn’t your choice to be here
But you chose not to fight for that;
You chose to fight for someone else.
That is why in life you were not alive
But when you died,
That was when you started to breathe.
Hey soldier?
Soldier?
I know you cannot hear
Because you strived
You are alive
To you death will never come near.
poem by Mehreen Mujeeb
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Mother’s Cry of Late
Where for art thou, soldier?
Out East? West? –
And when? –
What part your rabid history?
And why? –
What wrought your destiny? –
For whom
You’d wreak your enmity –
I crave your fate to pen!
What comprehension of the
Order? –
‘Listen up! you men!
Raze to ground the taken land!
See they die and e’er you’ll stand, for
Death is but a grain of sand –
The mighty triumph, medal grand!
Now go you well!
Amen! ’
What sight upon the bloody lie
Of war? – your doubtful fate.
‘Where for art thou, soldier? ’ –
Your mother’s cry of late.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011
soldier soldier soldier soldier soldier soldier
soldier soldier soldier soldier soldier soldier
soldier soldier soldier soldier soldier soldier
soldier soldier soldier soldier soldier soldier
soldier soldier soldier soldier soldier soldier
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Tin Soldier Man
Just a quiet city sport[? ]
With a wife and little kids to support
So immaculately dressed when he walks
Like a soldier on parade
Hes a tin soldier man
Living in a little tin wonderland
Very happy little tin soldier man
When you set him on your knee
Every day you see his army march down the street
Changing guards at the high road
Hes a tin soldier man
Wickie wa-waddle doo[? ]
And hes got a little tin lady too
Just to put a little shine on his shoes
And keep his uniform tidy
Hes a tin soldier man
Wickie wa-waddle doo[? ]
And hes got a little tin lady too
Just to put a little shine on his shoes
And make his uniform tidy
Hes a tin soldier man
Living in a little tin wonderland
Very happy little tin soldier man
When you sit him on your knee
Hes a tin soldier man
Hes a tin soldier man
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Soldier- Dedicated to Nicholas Shelton
There is discipline in A Soldier you can see it when he walks,
There is honor in A Soldier you hear it when he talks.
There is courage in A Soldier you can see it in his eyes,
There is loyalty in A Soldier that he will not compromise.
There is something in A Soldier that makes him stand apart,
There is strength in A Soldier that beats from his heart.
A Soldier isn't a title any man can be hired to do,
A Soldier is the soul of that man buried deep inside of you.
A Soldier's job isn't finished after an 8 hour day or a 40 hour week,
A Soldier is always A Soldier even while he sleeps.
A Soldier serves his country first and his life is left behind,
A Soldier has to sacrifice what comes first in a civilian's mind.
If you are civilian - I am saying this to you..... next time you see A Soldier remember what they do.
A Soldier is the reason our land is 'Home of the free',
A Soldier is the one that is brave protecting you and me.
If you are A Soldier - I am saying this to you.....
Thank God for EVERY SOLDIER Thank God for what YOU do!
I thought about you Mr. Shelton, I figured this is the least I could do to thank you my friend.
poem by Caleb Jones
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What You Find
There is discipline in A Soldier
you can see it when he walks,
There is honor in A Soldier
you hear it when he talks.
There is courage in A Soldier
you can see it in his eyes,
There is loyalty in A Soldier
that he will not compromise.
There is something in A Soldier
that makes him stand apart,
There is strength in A Soldier
that beats from his heart.
A Soldier isn't a title any man
can be hired to do,
A Soldier is the soul of that man
buried deep inside of you.
A Soldier's job isn't finished after
an 8 hour day or a 40 hour week,
A Soldier is always A Soldier
even while he sleeps.
A Soldier serves his country first
and his life is left behind,
A Soldier has to sacrifice what
comes first in a civilian's mind.
If you are civilian -
I am saying this to you.....
next time you see A Soldier
remember what they do.
A Soldier is the reason our land
is 'Home of the free',
A Soldier is the one that is brave
protecting you and me.
If you are A Soldier -
I am saying this to you.....
Thank God for EVERY SOLDIER
Thank God for what YOU do!
TY bohls
Broken Soldier
When you look at me
What do you see
Who am I
Or who you want me to be
You should always know I’m
Not always who I seem
I could be anything
I’m not chained by your ways
Your rules or your dreams
I’m not yours to control
I’m not your slave or your clone
I’m not your responsibility
You think you can change me
It’s just another fantasy
I just don’t understand
Why you play this game
You always seem to lose
It’s such a damn shame
I’m just another toy to you
So let’s play,
I’m a broken soldier,
Or so you say
I’m so much stronger
Then you give me credit for
I’ll be here long after you’re gone
But you’re still singing that same old song
You want me to be just like you
Any better wouldn’t do
I’m just another
Broken soldier to you
But as your days grow longer
Mine will be new
When your nights are cold,
And you have nothing to do
I’ll be sitting by this fire
Smiling down at you
You say I will change
But you’re not strong enough
Long after you’re in your grave
I’’ still be in the sun
You say you’ve won the battle
But the war has just begun
I’m just another toy
A poor broken soldier to you
Even broken I’m still a soldier
And I’m a lot stronger than you
I’ll still be fighting
Long after you’ve died
You know it’s the truth
You say you’re gonna change me
I don’t know why you try
I like being a broken soldier
Nothing less would do
poem by Haley Revell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Soldier Fights
the soldier fights for the hippys rights to protest against that soldier
the soldier fights for the politions rights to send that soldier to war
the soldier fights for buisness mans rights to make money
the soldier fights for the policemans rights to arrest that soldier
the soldier fights for school kids right to know about past soldiers
the soldier fights to so that you may all sleep at night
the soldier fights for religion so that you may all belive what you wish
And yet the soldier fights on
the soldier fights for his flag, for his country, for his life
Soldier Going To The War
Soldier going to the war--
Will you take my heart with you,
So that I may share a little
In the famous things you do?
Soldier going to the war--
If in battle you must fall,
Will you, among all the faces,
See my face the last of all?
Soldier coming from the war--
Who shall bind your sunburnt brow
With the laurel of the hero,
Soldier, soldier--vow for vow!
Soldier coming from the war--
When the street is one wide sea,
Flags and streaming eyes and glory--
Soldier, will you look for me?
poem by Richard Le Gallienne
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I was a Soldier once
Old, tired, physically worn out,
With every move my muscles shout.
Woodworking, gardening, lazing about,
nothing to do but widdle and pout.
I was a Soldier once, large and strong,
I was a Soldier once, doing no wrong.
I was a Soldier once, fighting your war,
I was a Soldier once, mighty to the core.
I sit behind a desk now, slowly getting fat,
Knowing where I should really be settling my hat.
This civilian life I live, is so deadly to me,
I should, again, be a soldier, a sight to see.
I was a Soldier once, Yes Sir, No Sir, anything you say Sir.
I was a Soldier once; it was the life I preferred.
I was a Soldier once, leading from the saddle.
I was a Soldier once, living in my battle rattle.
Those that have never been one shall never know.
Those that put them down can basically go blow.
In this day and age, Soldiers protect our Freedom
In this day and age, everyone should be one.
I know this because,
I was a Soldier once, protecting you and yours.
I was a Soldier once, with back to back fighting tours.
I was a Soldier once, dying for the American way.
and although I was a Soldier once,
I should be a Soldier Now, fighting for you every day.
poem by Rik Bertrand
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Judgement for a Soldier
The soldier stood and faced God,
Which must always come to pass.
He hoped his shoes were shining,
Just as brightly as his brass.
'Step forward now, you soldier,
How shall I deal with you?
Have you always turned the other cheek?
To My Church have you been true? '
The soldier squared his shoulders,
and said, 'No, Lord, I guess I ain't.
Because those of us who carry guns,
Can't always be a saint.
I've had to work most Sundays,
And at times my talk was tough.
And sometimes I've been violent,
Because the world is awfully rough.
But, I never took a penny
That wasn't mine to keep...
Though I worked a lot of overtime
When the bills got just too steep.
And I never passed a cry for help,
Though at times I shook with fear.
And sometimes, God forgive me,
I've wept unmanly tears.
I know I don't deserve a place
Among the people here.
They never wanted me around,
Except to calm their fears.
If you've a place for me here, Lord,
It needn't be so grand.
I never expected or had too much,
But if you don't, I'll understand.'
There was a silence all around the throne,
Where the saints had often trod.
As the soldier waited quietly,
For the judgment of his God.
'Step forward now, you soldier,
You've borne your burdens well.
Walk peacefully on Heaven's streets,
You've done your time in Hell.'
poem by Summer Sandercox
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Tin Heart
Twenty five soldier boys standing in a line
Twenty five army toys made out of tin
But the last one was broken
Unfinished
Missing a leg
And he stood the straightest
Of them all
His line stood straight
Eyes facing forward
But our one legged soldier
Looked toward the doll house
She was a ballerina
He was a soldier boy
And he loved her
At night the toys come out to play
But our steadfast little soldier
Just longed for the ballerina
Out popped the Jack-in-the-box
Who mocked and scoffed
Why would the beautiful ballerina
Pick a broken soldier?
Any fool could see that Jack wanted her too
But the soldier just ignored him
The next day came
And the little boy set the soldier on the windowsill
But by terrible luck
Or maybe it was Jack
The window blew open and down the steadfast little soldier fell
All the way down
Some boys picked him up and made a boat
Out of paper
And sent him sailing down the Thames
Our steadfast tin soldier stood steady at the wheel
But he wished for the ballerina to stay his trembling heart
Through rapids and down waterfalls
He tumbled
Still standing steadfast at the helm
But the boat was made of paper
And eventually the soggy bottom tore
And down little soldier fell
Once more
But at the bottom of the river
A big fish swallowed him whole
And the tin soldier was trapped in the darkness of a ribcage
For a long
Long
Time
Then mama cut open the fish she was cooking up for dinner
And there was our steadfast little toy
She just smiled and put him above the hearth
And he was happy to be home
For he could see the ballerina once more
But the Jack-in-the-box leered with anger
And maybe it was him
Or maybe just a stray gust of wind
But the soldier fell from the mantle
And into the flames
The wind caught the ballerina too and she joined him in the coals
And in the morning
When mama swept out the hearth
All that was left of the soldier and the ballerina's love
Was a heart
Made out of tin
**Inspired by The Steadfast Tin Soldier by Hans Christen Andersen
poem by Tsunami HiroshiSu
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The Last Inspection
The Last Inspection
The soldier stood and faced his God, which must always come to pass.
He hoped his shoes were shining, just as brightly as his brass.
' Step forward now, you soldier, how shall I deal with you?
Have you always turned the other cheek? to My Church have you been true? '
The soldier squared his shoulders and said, ' no Lord, I guess I ain't.
Because those of us who carry guns, can't always be a saint.
I've had to work most Sundays, and at times my talk was tough.
And sometimes I've been violent, because the world is awfully rough ''.
' But, I never took a penny, that wasn't mine to keep...
Though I worked a lot of overtime, when the bills got just too steep.
And I never passed a cry for help, though at times I shook with fear.
And sometimes, God, forgive me, I've wept an unmanly tear
I know I don't deserve a place, among the people here.
They never wanted me around, except to calm their fear.
If you've a place for me here, Lord,1t needn't be so grand.
I never expected or had too much, but if you don't, I'll understand.'
There was a silence all around the throne, where the saints had often trod.
As the soldier waited quietly, for the judgment of his God.
' 'Step forward now, you soldier, you've borne your burdens well.
Walk peacefully on Heaven's streets, you've done your time in Hell '
Jim 1967
poem by James Casey
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The Irish Soldier
The Irish soldier, cast for fight,
Stood to his arms at dead of night,
Watching the east, until its ray
To the battle--field should show his way;--
Soldier, soldier, soldier brave,
You will fight though they call you slave,
And though you but help a bandit hand
Uncheck'd to kill in your native land.
The soldier thought on his chance of doom--
How the trampled sod might be his tomb--
How, in evening's dusk, his sightless stare
To the small pale stars might upward glare;--
Soldier, soldier, soldier brave,
You will fight though you think of the grave--
Though it yawn so near you, black and chill,
Honor and courage man you still.
And o'er his solemn brow he made
The Christian sign, and humbly said--
``Your prayers, good saints, if I should fall;
And for mercy, O Lord, on you I call!''--
Irish soldier, soldier brave,
You will fight, although you crave
The prayers of the saints your own to aid,
And the sign of the cross on your brow have made.
The morning broke--the bugle blew--
The voice of command the soldier knew,
And stern and straight in the van he stood,
And shouting, he rush'd to the work of blood;--
Irish soldier, soldier bold,
Thousands lay round you, crimson'd and cold--
But over their bodies you still fought on,
Till down you sank as the day was won.
And the Irish soldier now hath come,
Worn, and wounded, and crippled, home,
The hated, and slander'd, and scorn'd of those
Who safely slept while he faced their foes;--
Irish soldier, soldier bold,
In your native land you now are told
'Twas traitor--blood on that field you lost,
For you call'd on the saints, and your brow you cross'd!
poem by John Banim
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Dear, Soldier Boy
Dear, Soldier Boy,
How I miss you so.
I think about you everyday,
And when you're coming home.
Dear, Soldier Boy,
I hope you write back soon.
Tomorrow's Sarah's birthday.
Her party starts at noon.
Dear, Soldier Boy,
I love you more each day.
My love for you grows stronger,
The longer you're away.
Dear, Soldier Boy,
I haven't heard from you at all.
Maybe I will get a letter,
By the time of Fall.
Dear, Soldier Boy,
June 15,2008.
They told me you were wounded,
And they got you help too late.
Dear, Soldier Boy,
How I miss you so.
I think about you everyday,
And why you didn't come back home
poem by Jessica Beal
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Brave Little Soldier
Im a brave little soldier
I must be bold and strong
A brave little soldier
And I must carry on
Im a brave little soldier
A brave little soldier
Im a brave little soldier
I must fight, I must win
Im a brave little soldier
Through hell and back again
Im a brave little soldier
A brave little soldier
Per rum, pum, pum
Per rum, pum, pum
Per rum, pum, pum, pum, pum
Ye though I am marching through the valley filled with fear
My steps are sure and sturdy and my aim is straight and clear
The enemy is stalking me just waiting for the kill
Like david slewed galiath
I will claim this battle field
Im a brave little soldier
I must do what I can
Im a brave little soldier
And I must take a stand
Im a brave little soldier
A brave little soldier
Marching, marching onward
Searching out the light of truth
I did not start the war
But its a battle I cant lose
Faith will be my armor
And love my sword and shield
I must defeat the enemy
I will, I will, I will
A brave little soldier
I must be bold and strong
A brave little soldier
And I must carry on
A brave little soldier
A brave little soldier
Im a brave little soldier
A brave little soldier
Brave, little soldier
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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(The) King Of Oak Street
Like a leaf caught in the wind he drifted a while
With no purpose or direction too his life
He tried to get himself together and pacify his mind
And forget about the things he left behind.
The cryin' woman standing helpless in his door
With a two month old baby in her arms
His little black book laying torn up on the floor
And God only knows he never meant to do her wrong.
A careless weekend on the other side of town
Has torn the king of Oak Street's Castle down
And all week long he's tried to call her but she won't let him explain
Now Sunday morning finds him walking in the rain.
He sits down in a phone booth and he prays
That she'll forgive him and she'll believe he's changed his ways
With shaking hand he deposits his last dime
And he's still praying that she won't hang up this time.
Then the sweetest voice he's ever heard says hello
Breakfast's almost ready baby, come on home
I've thought the whole thing over and I think I understand
That the king of Oak Street is just an ordinary man.
I've thought the whole thing over and I think I understand
That the king of Oak Street is just an ordinary man...
song performed by by Kenny Rogers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I am a soldier
(explanation - This about a soldier who has gone through all walks of life, faced it all..carried burdens...its left him so shallow that he likes d feeling of it..being emotionless....considering himself a machine...people respect him....everyone likes it.its what he wants us to be like 'a soldier'....carry on with life as if nothing has happened....u cannot say that u have suffered d most when u cont even compare your hardships with others, ....
its the total feeling of overcoming it..like u won a battle)
I love the pain of a wound
I love the pain of a bullet in me
I live with an anger in me
I am a soldier and I love this feeling in me
I walk on streets with respect
with a motive to make it perfect
perfect for any threat
perfect for any kind of death
I can face death million times
so tat families can safely dine
I am a soldier and I love this feeling in me
lost a leg because I stepped on a landmine
just to see kids smiling across the borderline
I have no regrets being a soldier
can take much more on my shoulder
can face bullets being brave n bolder
I am a soldier and I love this feeling in me
I am emotionless, I am fearless
I see blood all day and I am merciless
I am not a killing machine, I am just a living machine
there is no mercy in my eyes, there is no love in my cries
I am a soldier and I love this feeling in me
I can write no more soldier
I can fight no more soldier
this is all I could do for you
this how far I could go for you
you r a soldier, you r a soldier
I am a soldier and I love this feeling in me! ! !
poem by Shashank Shekhar Roy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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At The Sound Of The Drum
ARE you going for a soldier with your curly yellow hair,
And a scarlet coat instead of the smock you used to wear?
Are you going to drive the foe as you used to drive the plough?
Are you going for a soldier now?
I am going for a soldier, and my tunic is of red
And I'm tired of woman's chatter, and I'll hear the drum instead;
I will break the fighting line as you broke your plighted vow,
For I'm going for a soldier now.
For a soldier, for a soldier are you sure that you will go,
To hear the drums a-beating and to hear the bugles blow?
I'll make you sweeter music, for I'll swear another vow--
Are you going for a soldier now?
I am going for a soldier if you'd twenty vows to make;
You must get another sweetheart, with another heart to break,
For I'm sick of lies and women and the harrow and the plough,
And I'm going for a soldier now!
poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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