Chickamauga


Take my hand
And walk with me
There is a gentle
Slope in the
Middle of the
Field
Only the eyes
Of the deer
Playing in the
Woods and an
Occasional bird
Will see us
The only sounds
Will be the caw
Of the crow
And the screech
Of the hawk
I will place
The wool blanket
On the ground
And we will
Not speak for
Awhile
Then I will
Look deeply
Into your
Eyes and tell
You
That upon this
Field
Many young men
Died in battle
Dreaming
Of a day
Such as this
With someone
Such as you

© mBarlew