On the whispers
Of the wind
You can hear the
Voices of the past speaking.
As footsteps crunch on rocks
It sound like
Boots rhymthically marching
Soldiers cross the parade ground.
Cannons positioned carefully
On the mounds
To protect the adobe brick fortress
In the desert wasteland.
Gen Canby, proud
In his dress blue uniform,
Sips coffee from
A fine china cup and saucer,
While standing on the
Porch of the
Commanding officer's house
Watching, waiting. He knows
It's coming.
With spyglasses trained on the
Black hilss of the mesa
And toward the
Camino de Real
Where many settlers travel
Finally the silene is disturbed
By blurry shades of gray
Reflected in glass
Shouts echo as the
Message is run
To the commander
"Johnny Reb
Gen. Sigley and his men
They be coming.
He'll be here by
Day's, week's or
Month's end at the latest,
Then the Battle of Valverde beins
But Ft. Craig will be
Retained by Gen. Canby
And the Union
Now this site of history
Has ruin and earthwork remains.