Email Poem

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Poem

I walk the lane 'neath giant oaks,
vast canopies of green,
and view the mansion at path's end,
a sight I've never seen.

My mind begins to picture
those precious days of old,
the owner of this grand house
with history yet foretold.

Of Southern Belles in ball gowns,
young men in dapper dress,
music of the harpsichord
as folks poseur their best.

Dancing, singing, merriment
revere lives without care
as servants carry laden trays
of fancy food and fare.

But all the glories of this time
were soon to be forgot
with civil war uprisings,
and horrors that men wrought.
                              
Land was scourged, mansions burned,
or plundered of their ware,
soldiers stripped the wealth from them
and pillaged without care.

"The black man needs his freedom,"
was the battle cry,
and thousands chose to take a side
for which they'd surely die.

Brother fought 'gainst brother,
father against son,
I wonder if they felt for naught 
when the war was done.

Now standing 'neath the foliage
at this mansion tall and grand,
I question, "Was it worth it,
for them to take a stand?"

Guess we'll never know the answer,
today it seems too late,
but let us long remember
what happens when men hate.

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