The Drummer
He was just a little country boy
Had no shoes on his feet
Was living in a house on the edge of a field
Next to crowded rows of wheat
He was a bit over three feet tall
With the blondest hair and sky blue eyes
Brothers and sisters counted twelve
A large country family size
He was just a little poor boy
But didn't know how poor
He had that shining little drum
His momma bought at the country store
Always he'd dreamed of playing
In a mighty marching band
Remembering the day his momma came home
Was almost more then he could stand
Oh that little country boy
Ran down that old worn lane
Sat by the dirt road playing
Rat-a-tat, for anyone that came
He grew and grew and became quite tall
A new drum replace the tattered old
But he never had that chance to play in a band
Had to work hard he was told!
His chores were all but done
That bright warm sunny day
As he ran down that dusty lane
For anyone who passed he'd play
To his great amazement
Broken men in blue and gold
Marched limping and bleeding
Down that old worn dusty road
His eyes filled with tears
When he saw torn red, white and blue
And a boy much younger carried it
Oh what could this poor country boy do?
So he stood up strong along that road
As the broken soldiers passed
Rat-a-tat, he played his drum
To keep in step until the last
A tap came on his shoulder
Turned, an officer to see
Son, I need your drum today
To help us march and keep you free
He's playing our freedom song
In a much mightier marching band
And every mile they marched along
United they would stand!
by Vicki Rose Ann Swift Landis
... who is a freelance writer, with poems published in Poems
and Short Stories for the Military Family, and lyrics
produced in songs by Hilltop Records.
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