Loyd David Burt - The Broken Drum

The leaden sky, lay heavy

On that bleak autumnal day

When the drummer boy was ordered

His battle drum to play.

The reveille that young boy sounded

Roused the soldiers from their sleep,

They made ready for the battle

And the rendezvous they must keep.

The dew lay heavy on their greatcoats,

Their breath vapourised in the air,

Whilst the greyness all around them

Only deepened their despair.

Another day had dawned

In this, the seige of Malacci,

How many more gallant fighting men

Would stumble, fall and die?

That day’s fighting started slowly

With a brief skirmish, here and there,

Then cannon started pounding

The smell of gunpowder, filled the air.

Grapeshot screamed, and tore through living flesh

Cannon ball, did break their ranks.

Bayonet and sabre scythed a bloody way

Through the centre and both flanks.

The walls of the city, crumbled

Beneath this onslaught of shot and steel

And that proud, bedraggled garrison

Was crushed, beneath the enemy heel.

When the battle sounds had dwindled

And the acrid smoke had cleared,

Both sides began to count the cost

It was more than they had feared.

The victors, although jubilant

Their losses had struck them dumb.

The vanquished had but one soul left

A boy...... with a Broken Drum

Loyd David Burt

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