Sunday, November 8, 2015


The river glints
in the morning light
as we slowly drive
past the guard-gate
and into the rolling hills
of the Vicksburg Battleground.

But there are no battles here today
in this ringing forest ,
on these wrinkled meadows;

These cannons spit no fire
into this soft Mississippi morning,
and no soldier falls, sighing
into these cool, dark earthworks.

Slowly we drive the winding road
past a bronze soldier
grasping his bronze rifle,
tensely gazing
into the empty distance, waiting
for the screaming charge,
of his deadly brothers.

But all anger spent,
they sleep now
under smart ranks
of gleaming stone;

Now they lie,
unknown soldiers,
lulled by whispering
Southern magnolias
far from forgotten
Northern homes.

(5 August 2010)


  1. I love the wrinkled meadows and the soft Mississippi they're at rest. Lovely.

  2. Oh, wow! What a wonderfully haunting piece. I love the conveyance of your sensing the past, and you have done a remarkable job putting the reader there as well. Thank you for sharing.