"And I can't express the irony of the peaceful summer breeze dusting my battalion as they rest. 'Cause within this evening warmness lies a dark and icy freeze..."
Augustus Winslow,
Read the newly sewn cloth on my back,
The eve before the slaughter.
Instead of writing home,
Men were labeling themselves
To be identified when slain.
Instead of praying,
They had death on their minds.
Instead of making the best out of their time alive,
They were trying to fathom the fact that
They could
Die
Any
Second.
The evening sun began to descend
And the shadows cast strayed farther.
As I tried to comprehend the end before me,
I looked up,
And I saw a star.
YOU ARE READING
Steadfast
Ficción históricaA collection of poems that tell the story through song lyrics and real civil war letters of a soldier just trying to survive. Song: "Dearest Sarah" by Goodnight, Texas
