Upon a lichen covered stone I stood
Gazing into the creek once running red;
Running, as it does now, but stained with blood
Of those that followed, and of those that led.
I can almost hear the thunder of guns;
See the billowing smoke cloud Cemetery,
Where Yankees sweat beneath the July sun,
And Rebels gather on Seminary.
I can nearly feel the heat of battle,
See gray and blue become gray, blue and red;
Hear commanders shouting from the saddle,
And upon the clay, the wounded, and dead.
These men who fought gave nothing less than best;
Let us honor them, as in peace they rest!


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