It was an unstoppable battle,
the booming in my head seemed to have no end.
The bombs, the guns, the cannons,
echoed every minute,
every hour,

every time I thought I had peace.
I awaited hearing the news that the British had won,
my fingers crossed with hope.

In the midst of the battle,
there I sat in my large, old house at the end of Lundy’s Lane.
On a boiling hot day;
July 14th,
some young soldiers came about.
For 14 miles they walked, in nothing but blistering heat.
They were tired and weak,
in need of immediate help.
Some were mourning, some were crying in pain.
I knew I had to help when they approached me that day,
if I didn’t, what kind of person would I be?

I was scared.
I knew it would be a devoted risk.
The Americans could take me,
they could capture me,
they could kill me.
But I decided to do the right thing.
I had to,
I wanted to,
so I did.
I gave nursing to the hurt,
food to the hungry,
and water to all the thirsty, heroic fighters.
I did what I could for those men,
I risked my life to help them heal.

The battle had no victor,
for one they could not claim.
The Americans withdrew to Fort Erie,
with the roads left to dirt and dust.
Though one thing I knew,
was that I was glad that the fighting had been put to an end.

My help remained a secret, in the oh- so- quiet streets.
It needed to.
For if it didn’t,
I don’t even want to think about what could happen to me.

… Today I stand at the foot of the British.
A sharp iron sword in my old, fragile hand.
From the British officer,
It was my reward.
I was rewarded for my help,
that I was pleased to do at will.
I am proud of myself for helping,
I did what had to be done.
Now, I lie once again in my large, old house at the end of Lundy’s Lane.