Man’s conceit dwindled when – Shapeless as a feedbag Covered with mosaics of mud Years crept by slowly Frost gleamed on cemetery flowers Days turned into darkened nights Climbed the dead strewn hills The dying became a part of time Hearts & pulses beat faster Church bells no longer chimed Love was felt through tear stained letters Shadowy forms became life’s pelting storms Battlefield stories were cared not to repeat Hopes lived, but only lived to cheat They tried, then chose to forget Duty, stern, & pressing broke Ties to the killing linked their souls to thee Life’s tide was ebbing out so slow Hundreds of months passed since they saw Or would ever see their families. Who they were – The tailors, the carpenters, the masons The plasterers, the puddlers, & rollers The machinists, the architects, the printers The bookbinders, publishers, & village doctors Secretary’s of War, Seward’s Folly The merchants & farmers, sons, & daughters Names of the soon-to-be separated – Their images caught on photographs of tin – Wives, sweethearts, & lovers The bloodied, the maimed, the forgotten Babes in the cornfield led to slaughter Whole lines irretrievably broke – rope led prisoners Frightened civilians – frightened soldiers All malicious fellows wanting the privilege of completing The Uncivil War Catalogue “But we beg your pardon as we refuse the license You see, most Southern Gents could not write, nor read And Northern Gents looked at the whole thing As an unorganized bore.” What it all came down to – A confused mass of names They’re all strangers Wrapping of bandages Raising of funds Lobbyists, contractors, speculator$, Never exhausted, continually renewed, “I wish I were in Dixie” – a march to the sea Not Bronx Bombers, but rather damn Yankees Emancipation Proclamation – slaves free? “Hey, sensation preachers, the dead of the battlefield won’t come to you, not even in your dreams” The whole thing was a reality Surrender at Appomattox – was the pen mightier than the sword? Traders, spies, John Wilkes Booth (actor) Abraham Lincoln – the last casualty of the Uncivil War Like a funeral next door It attracts your attention – to your sympathy it taunts But is very different when the hearse stops at your door. ‘2007’ RLS