The Battlefield

By the way I wrote this when I was like 8.

Here I am on the battlefield,
Stepping stones all around,
The enemy ready to fight,
Then men fall slowly to the ground.
I look right,
But not a man in sight.

I get brother lead,
To hit someone in the head.
And sister steel,
To stab someone in the heel.
I hear the boom of guns,
And the plop of gas shells,
Dropping slowly behind.

It begins to rain on the battlefield,
And the ground becomes sticky and wet.
The gas shells drop behind me,
And men act like blind puppy pets.
I make my way back to the trench,
But the darkness gets in my way,
And I become another stepping stone.