The Little Tin Soldier
By Linda A. Copp

And the little tin soldier molds in his hand
And the little tin soldier molds in his hand

He is to carry
 the truth of command
From mountain to mountain
from shoreline to sand.

And the little tin soldier molds in his hand
And the little tin soldier molds in his hand

And the thunder clouds gather
up in the sky
Looks like the angels
 are about to cry.

And the little tin soldier molds in his hand
And the little tin soldier molds in his hand

The Colonel, the Major,
 the Captain, wax stern
Giving, their orders,
 obeying in turn.

And the little tin soldier molds in his hand
And the little tin soldier molds in his hand

And questions are pondered
 as hearts cry for rest,
battles that tear
 at humanity's breast.

And the little tin soldier molds in his hand
And the little tin soldier molds in his hand

The cruelest and hardest
 of any man's task
Is to follow these orders
 that others have asked.

And the little tin soldier molds in his hand
And the little tin soldier molds in his hand

And the gravest of all things
 there must be to recall
Is the fact these decisions
 must be decided at all.

By Linda A. Copp
 ©September 4, 1970