Waiting now for the inevitable,
The road passes directly by the house in shadows,
Hastily boarded up in expectation of a red force marching this way.
While a youngster with a whistle beckons death,
Once faint, now with a discernable tune,
Hunting muskets, long since used,
Become ready for perhaps the last time.
As dread is swallowed hard,
To be digested by courage.