’twas morning, some time ago –
I think – nor might remember then,
a cool wind did wrestle my somber blackness.
Hazen, my eyes found the sun –
whether morning peeking –
… or days end peaking –
I know not.
My mind does come and go –
Whirlwinds of moments,
here and there –
inbetween the black despair…
my stunned mind drifts away –
to some place, some where…
God-sent sleep – or loss of blood –
Should certain be – that hours pass –
before my mind comes again.
For once the smoke of battle field strong –
and the next it goes away –
as do the cries of other men flung –
downed by battle’s way.
So here, dear King and countrymen,
do here my body lay –
With hopes of glory reigning then –
above my simple grave.
E’er should we sing, or dance again –
to celebrate this day –
Do not call me patriot friend –
for a life so lost away.
As all shall find in the end,
A price too high to pay –
for any soul lost in war –
to mere King and countrymen.
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© 2015 John Allen Richter
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johnallenrichter 