Ashes of Gettysburg

Oh Gettysburg, your battle flags lie charred beneath the corps that stormed the blue abyss. A fence of stone has marked the final yard where vanquished legions vanished in the mist. As cannon fire consumed the summer sky, it scorched the winds that scattered each brigade. A final yard, your chronicles decry, had crushed their will to win the great crusade. The tides of war have rolled upon this land as fallen brothers perished in its wake, to stand as one this Nation must demand, its battle fallen; time shall not forsake. As winds of death come wafting through the pine on placid currents drifting through the field, brigades of spirits haunt the battle line where cannons forced their flesh and bone to yield. Each call to arms, in charge and failed retreat, seemed endless in the swelter of sun, for those who pledged to not concede defeat would forfeit to the fury of the gun. As agony fell quiet from the blaze, their lamentations moaned beyond the clash, the mystic plumes, ascending through the haze, were silent souls arising from the ash. Oh Gettysburg, your name shall ring of war. With reverence, we whisper you in prayer. In eulogy, we’ll hail forevermore our Nation’s unknown soldiers harbored there. July 2018