Confederate Graveyard

[couchgrouch]

Confederate GraveyardThough Johnny knew the dangers and riskhe went to the townsquare to enlistfrom soapboxes and pulpits he'd been taughtsooner or later war must be foughtand won against the southern Judasthe day he left his young wifeto fight for flag, honor and lifehis hometown gave a morning paradewhere a brass marching band playedtrombones, trumpets and tubasbut my...how the bloody months had rolledhe'd gotten seperated from his patroland there alongside a crooked Georgia trailwas the crossroads between heaven and hellan old bonegarden...lonely and foggyand was it real or a wicked, waking dreamsomehow the wind carried a soldier's screamsfor in a nearby medicine tentthe last nurse sawed and sawed till she was spentbut all she saved was one more bodyfor the Confederate graveyardthe Confederate graveyardshadows, sorrow and bloodand shovels hate the sour mudin the Confederate graveyardJohnny took the cap off his canteensat down and thought of all he'd seenhe recalled heaps of dead...ripped and tornthey'd be kin but for accents and uniformstheir blood staining poppies and pegoniasthen through some mighty, misty oaksrolled a deathwagon with splintered spokesthe back of that old wagon was more than filledsome wrapped in the same wet rags and quiltsthat gave them pneumoniahe watched that nurse work the pick and spadeher falling tears spit in the eye of fateshe raised her heart to a light somewherebut had to wonder if her rebel prayerwas as worthless as Confederate tenderJohnny remembered raiding an old farmhousehow he asked the rebs inside to come outbut one by one their spirits joined the windthey stood fast cos instead of giving inthey preferred to surrenderto the Confederate graveyardthe Confederate graveyardshadows, sorrow and bloodand shovels hate the sour mudin the Confederate graveyardJohnny's mind drifted and he thought some moreon whether winning was the only goal in warthen he looked up and saw that nurse's gunshe caught him off guard...he couldn't runand she thought he'd start weeping and beggingbut they just stood there till they recognizedthe look of defeat in each others' eyesshe hoped his outstretched hand wasn't a trickwhen she dropped her gun he lifted her pickand helped that nurse with her diggingat the Confederate graveyardthe Confederate graveyardshadows, sorrow and bloodand shovels hate the sour mudin the Confederate graveyard(c)2005 Robert George