POWs

The sun is hot, the day is long
To keep from insanity, I whistle a song
The shovel gets heavier with every mound of dirt
My sunburn throbs, as I am not wearing a shirt
My team mates and I work all the day
Each hour passing slowly, we begin to fade away
Marching home, guns pointed at our back
Never slowing, you get shot if you're slack
Back at camp the food is poor
It's not going to get better, this is for sure
Moans come from one of the huts
A fellow worker has sustained a nasty cut
Tending to his aid, the soldiers are not there
We all know their specialty is harm, definatley not care
After this is done, I write home to my Dad
As it has been a while, my grammar is getting bad
I seal it in an envelope and send it away
The soldiers have to read it before it's given the okay
I think Dad never gets the letters because he never writes back
The soldiers are cruel and will burn them; I know this for a fact
As the sun goes down, my eyelids begin to fall
Then my dreams come in, I feel 10 feet tall
I take what I am given, for now here is where I stay
So I just keep dreaming of the day I get away

(C) Hannah M Lee 2010