The General

There in the park, beside the path, The limestone general stands, With pigeons perched upon his hat And on the saber in his hand. He would have cut a handsome swath In the cavalry, of course, But while he wasn' t looking Some "sneaky Injun" stole his horse. He never knew a victory, Though that was his grand desire, But the "Indian war" came to an end Before a single shot was fired. So stubborn was the general, Folks say he never died, But stood there on that grassy hill And simply, slowly petrified.