Email Poem

Your IP Address: 18.220.216.164
Your Email Address:
To Email Address:
Subject
Personal Note:
Poem Title:
Poem
An Old Battlefield ,  by Frank L. Stanton


The softest whisperings of the scented South,
And rust and roses in the cannon's mouth;

And, where the thunders of the fight were born,
The wind's sweet tenor in the standing corn;

With song of larks, low-lingering in the loam,
And blue skies bending over love and home.

But still the thought: Somewhere,-upon the hills,
Or where the vales ring with the whip-poor-wills,

Sad wistful eyes and broken hearts that beat
For the loved sound of unreturning feet,

And, when the oaks their leafy banners wave,
Dream of the battle and an unmarked grave!

Frank L. Stanton 

------------------------------------------------------
My tribute below, to this great man and his fine poem
quoted above.


Where Now Sings The Sweetest Morning Lark


The morning dew falls upon the ground
precious soil, where blood was laid down
Fine men, hearty soldiers one and all
upon this battlefield they did bravely fall

Silence now , no loud cannons booming out
no screaming in an agonizing painful shout
Bullets once whizzed onward to hit their mark
where now sings the sweetest morning lark

Morning mists now wrap the towering hills
where war took so many with senseless kills
Courage so true,  could still save no man
not if cruelest Fate had a different plan 

Death raced about in the air with glee
sad was every blood soaked dying plea
Of brave men that fought and valiantly died
leaving behind family that forever cried

The setting sun casts a saddened glow
on this once bloody soil covered with snow
No victor's glory can ever stand to replace
these fallen that lost their greatest race

No laurels given at that deadly finish line
no great banquet to celebrate and dine
Only quiet and forgotten memories remain
of this great battle and its bloody stain

Robert J. Lindley, 02-12-2015
CAPTCHA Preview
Type the characters you see in the picture
Required