In Gettysburg

In Gettysburg, the soldiers fell In shock, in pain, in death, As thousands from the North and South Cried out with their last breath. Their bodies lay in bloody fields, A vista grim and stark; Today, those hills have been restored Into a hallowed park. With monuments and obelisks Commemorating all Who fought and died when barely grown, Sucked in to wartime's thrall. A marker made of stone records The bodies there interred, Remembered with a name or else "Unknown," a lonely word. The numbers laid out state by state Count lives the war's undone. New York sustained the greatest loss - Eight hundred sixty-one. That just reflects the ones who died Those three days in July And after all these years, no one Can really answer why. The battlefields are there to see - To visit and to tour But sadly, war is a disease For which there is no cure.