Poem – Chickamauga, Tennessee
Blades of grass bow low in the wind
As it sweeps down off the foothills into the valley.
A sense of peace and sorrow send
Me moving forward hesitantly.
Age-old woes of freedom rang
As the blood of brothers spilled.
Along the land of torment, with each deafening bang
Our country’s children fell upon this field.
The drum beats low, vibrating off the land
Each sound a warning of death to come.
As fate reaches down her exacting hand
Beckoning forward those far too young.
Sing a song of soft lament and
Feel this barren field’s old torment.
Walk along the path where blood ran cold
Sense the souls of warriors old.
Blades of grass bow so low
Touching the fields where long-ago tears were sown.
A peace is here so great in worth
Found on this battlefield turned to earth.
-1993
