The Island

A mucky, fetid tidal smell
No one speaks there, only yells
Psyches soon will be scrubbed clean
All colors soon replaced with Green
These coddled boys will soon be men
The strength of one the strength of ten
Pale-green moss hangs from the oaks
Within which all The Island's cloaked
"The first to fight, the first to die"
Instructors say-this is no lie
There is no hint of pageantry
Only brutal, base reality
This is the land that time forgot
Just flies, and sand, and sweat, and snot
The boys are there to learn and train
And inure their bodies to the pain
For one day soon they go to fight
In sun-scorched day or darkest night
Esprit de Corps moves them as one
Until the cooling darkness comes
And with it comes the blessed shout-
"GOODNIGHT MAGGOTS- LIGHTS OUT!"