(The Battle of Fredericksburg, 1862)
The battles I cannot forget are those
where the hail of lead strikes down the crop and blows
all life from upright men who fall in rows,
thrashing among the shattered stalks, like corn
objecting to harvest, wanting reborn.
© 2009 Edmund Pickett
(This poem may be copied or forwarded as long as
you retain the copyright notice and author’s name)
Tags: edmund pickett, Hail, poem