C. "Elegy for a Child-Soldier"

Gunshots in a clearing
rang: bang, and you're dead.
Without your parents join the
gang. "Bang, and you're dead!"

March all day, unwilling
pawn; maybe you'll be fed.
In time you'll grow a wolfly
fang--bang, and you're dead.

These toys all came from far off
lands; someone sent them here.
Someone far from killing's
tang. Bang and you're dead.

In days or years your usefulness
flags--not for you a bed--
but one day in a clearing
--bang, bang! And you're dead...