My Gate Pa Poem

I wrote a really long poem for some reading. I'm quite proud of it, so I decided to put it on my blog.

Standing strong

The night before the bloodshed,

Nine soldiers dined like kings,

Certain of the battle’s outcome,

Not afraid of anything.

Their enemies, however,

Were preparing for the fight,

Rising wooden walls,

Building by moonlight.

After a restless sleep,

The battle was begun,

The British soldiers fired,

Their loud artillery guns.

The air was filled with smoke,

They couldn’t see or breathe,

But still the British fired,

Their mighty artilleries.

After eight hours had passed,

The pa still stood strong,

The British soldiers realised,

Their aim was greatly wrong.

But look! went up the cry,

Just one cannon had worked,

One cannonball had stayed true,

One corner greatly jerked.

No human life was seen,

A battalion was sent:

Was there any living?

Or had the Maori fled?

Night had fallen on the ground,

The dark was cool and clear,

But the British weren’t expecting,

What they found there.

They slipped in through the corner,

And what they found there,

The living said about the dead:

‘We all showed great fear.’

The Maori had dug,

Great trenches in the ground,

And hidden inside them,

Until the British came ‘round.

And when the British came,

The Maori fought without grace,

Slashing, slicing and stabbing,

Swinging spears, breaking bones, ghastly faces.

And when the sun returned,

The English all had gone,

One officer survived,

The rest had all gone on.