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.