(poems go here)

A chilly breeze meandered through the camp

Waking the soldiers to the cold and damp.

The Fall wind crystallized dew to grass

Sparkling like beads of glass.

 

Coffee roasted in the pot

‘Till it became boiling hot,

Tended by a boy of mere eighteen,

Sipping lightly from his canteen.

 

An austere Colonel stood hardly appalled,

Gazing sadly as his buglers called.

Men rallied ‘round the bugle boys

Rifles in hand, gath’ring to the brass noise,

Like pigs to the slaughter.

 

Leaves fell silently from the trees,

Mourning for wars brutal needs.

The boys walked in succession,

Looking like a long funeral procession.

Drummers drummed, Fifers fifed,

Bringing to the boys a reason to sacrifice life.

 

Miles were covered by the boys’ swift tracks

 Bringing with them their heavy packs,

Filled with all their worldly possessions,

Off to stop the Rebel aggression.

 

Miles and miles with barely a pause,

Marching efficiently to win their cause,

When, Lo! A scout charged by,

Bringing with him no mean lie.

 

A Confederate column was fast approaching,

With men and cannon soon encroaching.

What gall it called forth,

A Southern force coming this far North!

 

The men yelled with eager ambition

To kill Johnny Reb and end his mission

To plunder and burn

Every Northern town at each road’s turn.

 

Bloodthirsty rage burned in every man,

And the men nearly ran

To show the Rebel bastards

That  Grey would not be the master.

 

Without warning, a loud bang rang around

And a poor boy in front fell limply to the ground.

Before anyone knew what had transpired,

The Rebel guerillas had already fired.

 

A score of men or more by then

Had fallen, never to stand again.

Smoke clogged the boys’ breath,

And obscured the Scythe of Death.

 

Guns cracked, a cannon boomed,

And over the field a smoky haze loomed.

Fresh fish on both sides scattered,

To veterans, it hardly mattered

That lead balls punched holes

The size of washbowls

Into men, rending flesh and bone,

Leaving nothing untouched or alone.

 

One by one, the cracks fell silent.

The cannon fell quiet.

An eerie silence pervaded.

 

The quiet was soon invaded

By the screams of dying men,

Who begged for their pain to end.

 

The cold Fall wind again whispered by,

Causing the gray, dead smoke away to fly

Revealing such a scene of brutality

One must be there to know its reality.

Innocent boys with promising lives

Cut down, dead in their prime,

Bleeding or dying,

Shocked and crying,

 

The zealous and triumphant Rebels

Slowly halted cut short their yells.

There was none of their predestined glory here,

Only a thick and decaying fear.

 

Both ranks retreated to the safety,

Horrified by the terrible folly of war.

All the while, the cold Fall breeze

Brought those remaining down on their knees.