My friend Amanda wrote today,

her young son, Alfredo, ran away,

to join the brothers in the cause,

to fight against oppressive laws.

 

Blessed by the priest of San Miguel,

he carried a gun at the Angeles bell.

To the jungle green he slipped away,

in the rising mist of the fading day.

 

Alfredo learned to stalk and kill,

to ambush army patrols with skill,

cut throats, in a flash, in any fight,

pledge distant death by rifle sight.

 

For news of her son in the silent weeks,

she prays each night, and rarely sleeps,

Hail Holy Mother, will you really hear?

No words could ease her growing fear.

 

They brought his body home at night,

the life drained from her at the sight,

of her bloodied child of thirteen years;

she cleansed him with her blinding tears.

 

At dawn a yellow-jaundiced sun,

found her, his grave, and his loaded gun,

I am going to make the murderers pay,

my friend Amanda wrote today.

 

End Note: In many parts of a disturbed world, children are at war; as members of jungle commandos, or simply fighting for survival in drug, vice and poverty ravaged slums. 

 

This is dedicated to the memory of Amanda and Alfredo Valdez, murdered by the junta with guns, ammunition and air support provided by the freedom loving taxpayers of the United States of America and Great Britain, and with the measured indifference of the Marxaphobic Universal Church.

 

Amanda © Dermott Ryder

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