Poetry By Chuck

Subtitle

 

 

Prior to Gettysburg the South had it's way.
But, at Gettysburg, the Union had it's day.

With blood, sweat, and tears that say,
"On this knoll, this little hill, on this ground, we'll stay."

"We're the end of the line, and deep in the fray."
"We're going to fight and be brave, here, today."



The colors will fly and the flag will wave.
There will be such a loss on this day.

Smoke in the tree's and that thunderous sound.
Wounded and injured, we will hold our ground.



The rebel's advance in courageous wave after wave.
Up little Round Top, in the early morning Smokey haze.

Brother against brother, with brothers to save.
Fighting' side by side and dying that day.



At the base of that hill,  in the farmer fields and mown hay.
My God! What a tremendous loss of blood they gave.

Soldier killing soldier none giving way.
Their courage was iron, on both sides.



But, it was iron that would divide.
And, it was God that would decide.

Not one man gave that day.
Not one man ran away.

For those who felt so temporarily worse.
They came back and put duty first.



To the Rebel sound they advance again.
Once again they repel them, and repel them, seemingly without end.

Now after this battlefield of tears.
There remains two more devastating years.



The Generals that lived they gathered around.
There was not a face without a frown.

"They didn't die for us!" they said.
It was their country and freedom, instead.



On Little Round Top, on that day my friend.
The Union charged, the South remained.

But, on that little hill,
on that day, it all changed.
The flags still flies


  ...Old Glory untamed.




20,000 Wounded.  
51,000 causalities in three days.  
33% of all troops dead or dying.
In one 3 hour period 10,000 causalities.
 All Americans

"It is only the timid, the hateful, the conspirators, the worriers,

and the self seeking who fail to recognize our collective efforts,

our sacrifices, and our achievements in the cause of freedom." -me



On fames eternal camping ground,
Their silent tents are spread,
And glory guards with solemn round,
The bivouac of the dead. 

Imagine losing 15,000 men in less then 5 hours.  

Imagine the horror of war and the hero's that fight it.  

This poem is to honor those who gave their lives

on both sides in this terrible struggle of arms.

 

 


 

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