Chickamauga

Walk between the lines, Quiet a century and a half, Except for whispers through a foggy shroud, Below squirrel teeth on hickory nut, Quieter than browsing deer, The echo of shot, Rebel yell, cannon, Rebound off stone sentinels. - Any summer-day family picnic, White cloth laid on blood-soaked earth, Children raise stick guns To fire … Continue reading Chickamauga