Gettysburg
written by: Brad Osborne
I see their ghosts in morning mist
That washes across battlefield
Where Confederates do persist
And Union soldiers will not yield
Across the fields of Sherfy’s farm
Marchs an army in rebel grey
Intent on doing warring harm
To any Blues that fight that day
And in that dawn, I hear the roar
Union grapeshot sent from Culp’s Hill
It echoes with a death assured
Down valley where their blood does spill
The mist rises like cannon smoke
Ghostly screams of the dying shrill
And with the light that dawn has broke
You can see they stand there still
The long rows of ancient headstones
Great lives carved into monument
A hallowed place filled with young bones
Turning point of the great dissent
MARCH 2021 AUTHOR OF THE MONTH / 2021 AUTHOR OF THE YEAR at Spillwords.com
The author is American-born but world-travelled. His writings cover fiction and non-fiction, and cross most genres. Although his experiences and shared thoughts are not always unique, it is his hope that his words will bring comfort, joy, or insight to his readers.
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