Cheryl Nielsen

Little boys will play the war game
in riant queues blackly finessed
and their faces shall be as flames.

Climbing their stubbed mountains of shame
with lion cubs in right hand, suppressed,
little boys will play the war game.

Never to take magic childish aims,
howl for vexation of darkness
for their faces shall be as flames

While mothers’ mournful cries declaim.
And they say, “How did we transgress?
Little boys will play the war game.”

Cracking fast in that spinning frame
waiting long for that steel caress.
How their faces shall be as flames.

Dying fast - O that bitter game.
No purple crest, no public press.
Little boys will play the war game
and their faces shall be as flames.