REBELLION

The constant drum of a lone Bodhrain
Echoes storm the hillside,
The wind rises,
The trees sway.
Trunks singed and gnarled.
The rebel army crawls through bog and glen,
While weary troops follow
Progressing to the beat of their drums.
Silence!
The drums cease.
A single shot rings out,
Another
Then another.
One by one they fall
Lost in the bloodstained reeds of the bog.
Death comes slowly
The rebels flee
Disappearing over the horizon.
The lone Bodhrain echoes through the hillside.
The rebels live to fight another day.