Far in the distance I can hear
The sound of all the passing trains
The wail that echoes loud and clear
Repeating its wistful refrains,
Across this world the trains hold court
With language we can’t comprehend
In climates cold or damage fraught
Or crises we don’t understand.
Oh sad the trail of distance brings
To circumstance beyond our reach
It is the sound of dying things
The skill of God will soon impeach !
The name was Cemetery Hill
Its victims’ cries do echo still
Where fifty thousand was the cost
Of dead and wounded and those lost.
The men that fought that long hot day
They had no chance to getaway
While blood they shed covered the ground
There was no hero to be found.
A war is such an ugly curse
I can’t believe there is much worse !
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| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 |
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| 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 |
| 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 |
| 29 | 30 | 31 | ||||
Claire V. Bogdanos 