Still the valley sits.

Broad and resolute trees line the battlefield.

A blanket of white encompasses the sky, emitting a

mendacious sense of harmony and tranquility.

The earth is silent and waiting.

Frozen webs of water dight blades of grass and the

fragrant, damp soil.

Suddenly, in the distance comes the utterance of drums

and marching feet.

An army of men encroach on the valley from the east

side, their metal weapons reflecting the rays of sunlight

effusing through the clouds.

Tri-cornered hats and handsome army coats rubricate

their strong bodies, and passionate minds.

These are the Patriots.

The from the west march those who serve the beast,

he who is the head of Britain.

Polished boots and powdered wigs, with muskets slung

across their blood coloured backs, march the British.

As the two armies come to a halt, they configure their

ranks in true lines.

All clamor withers into silence.

A petulant cry resounds from both sides. "Fire!"

The air expeditiously becomes thick with smoke and bullets.

Waves of ammunition down the first formed ranks.

Cries of agony, gunshots, and diffidence are auscultated

simultaneously across the battlefield.

Those who hesitate at firing upon a brother or friend on

the opposing side are shot themselves.

For many, the scene becomes a single colour...red.

Red with blood.

Red with pain.

But for the Patriots also red with courage.

Red with hope.

Red with love of liberty and family.

Red with those who were so willing to stand and fight for

a difference, a better tomorrow, and a forever more free nation.

For what seems an eternity the fighting pursues.

The ground no longer white and green, but lambent red.

Enveloped with agglomerated bodies of those who fought,

with weapons, with absent limbs and constituents.

Gradually the warfare remits.

As the fatigued soldiers limp off of the battlefield and dare to look back,

it is in this moment they are dubious who really won,

with so many lives lost.

Not until later do they glean that they in fact won.

And they ask themselves, "Was it worth it?"

Without uncertainty they declare, "I knew with all my heart and soul

that our freedom did not come without a price!

The price is paid."