As they mark off the no man’s land with flags and chalk,
they warn their young brother he’d better not balk.
Then, battle lines drawn, my young monsters are off.
They huzzah and bellow and threaten and scoff.
As side one counts the time off, twos drop to their knees
behind bushes and tables and boulders and trees.
Then, a hundred count reached, the enemy searches
the ditches and culverts and elm tees and birches.
Crows rise from the trees to caw and to hover,
betraying those hidden and blowing their cover.
They rise then from where they’ve been crouching or sitting,
to begin their maneuvers of feinting and flitting.
Hiders still in hiding feel a hand on the nape
of their necks, that touch foiling their hope of escape.
Prisoners are taken and armies change places.
Hunted become hunters, continuing chases.
Over and over, this course is repeated.
Loser becomes winner but then is defeated.
Until one-by-one, they all are called home,
and the battleground’s empty below the night dome.
Star after star replaces the ranks
of small weekend soldiers and make-believe tanks.
They fall under covers, their moms tuck them in,
the dreams of their conquests now set to begin.
Prompt words today are battle, drop, sit, young, cover, monster, chase, table, count, times, zone and flags.
For the Sunday Whirl Wordle 524.
Image by Annie Spratt on Unsplash