Terry D. Sutherland

MENDING FENCES

We mended fences that whole year
Plugging holes in desperate fear
We dug a moat and filled it full
We’ll repel the raging bull

We’ll meet the bull on his turf
We’ll gather and cross the foamy surf
We’ll march our armies tall and true
We’ll rain death from the heavens too

But in the end we’ll not have won
Even with the enemy on the run
We’ll still have lost soldiers here
And not one loss absolves our fear

Not one loss can be condoned
Falling to blades newly honed
Our brave soldiers are worth much more
Than any dozen enemy killed in war

The solution is, of course
Never have an opposing force
That will never happen; we all know
So soldiers will die when they go