Barren Hill

The fire’s gone out in the last wooden hut Fresh snow has been falling, cold hunger abuts The Red Coats emboldened in far Germantown The wind carries stillness, with death all around A General stands watch on the farthest of hills His heart never waivers, his anger instills The firewood gone but the embers still burn O’er forests and rivers, to Paris in turn The Schuylkill runs quiet, Lenape scouts have returned “Our enemy grows fat, Sir, in taverns that burn” The outcome awaiting, its body count high Where cabins though frozen —the stars and stripes fly (Valley Forge: November, 2020)