A mom sits by

Her dumpling's bed,

Watches him closely

Making sure he doesn't bump his head.

 

He diddles to the left,

And diddles to the right;

Shaking and shivering,

Remembering that night.

 

A split second boom,

A sharp piercing ring.

Soliders scurrying about

Searching for their things.

 

Grenades displacing

Patches of sand all around;

Artillery shells sending troops

Sailing to the ground.

 

He can't find his britches,

He can't find his shoes;

Desperate to give

The enemy his due.

 

Lost in the dream,

He grabs at this pants and pulls at his laces,

Struggling to put on 

What he thinks he misplaces.

 

His mom holds him tight,

Wipes the sweat from his brow,

And tries to assure him

He's prepared now.

 

"John, don't worry,

John, don't fret,

You put on your britches and shoe

Before bed."