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Three Days Long

In a small country town, summer of 1863
Two armies fought the good fight.
A cemetery remains there in honor of the gallantry.
Though many years have passed, honor still blankets the site.

A chance encounter on an early summer hour,
A stroke of fate, a brush with destiny,
Tested the endurance of our nation's power.
It's will to live was rattled as it became its own enemy.

Devastation of bullets and cannons was fired.
Brother vs. Brother, a sad story to be told.
Casualties mounted up with every heart beat that expired.
The Eagle cried those days as the hearts of men grew cold.

Three days long these brothers did fight.
Three days long these brothers sweat and bled.
Two armies, two causes, but only one can be morally right.
Everyone now praying for Divine light on the trail ahead.

Day three came and went; one army retreated.
The other rejoiced for the tide of war has turned.
But many more souls must go to where Jesus Christ is seated.
Before the war will end and maybe our lesson will be learned.

Many years have passed and we know what happened where.
Our history consumes us as a violent flood surge.
Human nature will always risk taking us there.
That's why we must learn from this town we call Gettysburg.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2018

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Date: 8/1/2018 12:59:00 PM
It is almost ridiculously difficult to conjure up empathy for a battle that happened in 1863, and yet, you do it as marvelously as if you were there. Nice. Welcome to Poetry Soup, David.
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