Camp – Poem 10

 Continuing with my developing manuscript, here’s the next poem, poem 10. Lt. Everly attempts to settle into camp.

[Gen. Ambrose E. Burnside (reading newspaper) ...

Camp

June 1, 1861

Tents stretch across green fields –
row upon row. Their white canvas
wings bend toward earth –
a host of praying angels.

Boys caress their new guns
as if they coddle the silk
of a young lady’s skin,
each out to fills his lungs

with honor and valor
and return home
a king of war.
Small fires burn, dot the camp.

Here they gather, sharing rations –
not fit for dogs. Yet, each boy
believes he swallows
an earned spoil of battle.

Will these children pound
their hearts after they sip
the bitter ale of blood?

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One Response to Camp – Poem 10

  1. Pingback: General’s Tent – Poem 11 | Lint In My Pocket – Artillery On The Ridge

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