COPYRIGHT 2016 LITERARY JUICE. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
Great-uncle was a Hoosier
from near St. George’s Creek.
And when the Union was dissolved,
he joined within a week.
He stood in Shiloh’s hornet’s nest.
He witnessed Lee’s surrender.
He slept in ditches great and small,
in places unremembered.
I had never met this man.
No tintypes now remain.
But I learned from his tombstone
that we shared an ancient pain:
“Thy deer is in his den, milord.
Thy hounds are by thee lying.
Dream a dream of yonder glen
where no more men are dying.”
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