Day of Peace
By Alex Cutshall
In eighteen sixty-two on Christmas morn,
A group of soldier boys fought through the thorns
Along the path they walked toward a glade
In which a friendly game was often played.
But that day’s game would be like none they’d seen.
That day they did not split; they formed one team,
For on the knoll afar, was coming near
An equal group of boys in colors feared;
But when they saw the bat they carried too,
And saw each others’ eyes, they all then knew:
Instead of splitting up, they formed a row,
And waited for the first rag to be thrown.
The silence ever held until the sun
Did touch the mountains’ peak, and they were done.
Neither side had won a greater game,
For on that day, both uniforms were same;
And though they did not speak, they did salute,
And waved goodbye the different colored suit.
And then they turned their backs and did set forth:
The Rebels to the south, the Yankees north.
Upon retreat they stole glances at they
Who would have killed them on another day.
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Comments
Cool poem, I like the description of fear and anxiety at the sight of the opposing side. Then that fear relieved as they realize that they're just kids, and don't have a desire to fight.
- Eric Mock
Katy, TX