Civil War Dedication

A poem dedicated to the memory of John Grove, a Union Soldier in the Civil War.

| Good Old Days

We think of him now as a feeble old man,
Who nodded and dreamed all day.
As he sat there alone in his old wicker rocker,
Pushed back out of folks' way.

His fast-dimming sight, and war-deafened ears,
Wrapped him in memories.
So he'd sit there and dream of bygone years
And hard-won victories.

Sometimes he would tell us an old war tale,
As eager-eyed kids we would gather 'round,
He'd tell how they trampled in wintry gale,
Or slept like dead on the hard frozen ground.

He told us a tale of a brave young lad,
Who shot down a pig as they marched along,
To supply them with meat, which they needed,
Not thinking, perhaps, of committing a bad.

'Twas against the Army rules, you see, wrong,
To fire a shot while the march was on.
So he must be hanged by his thumbs to a tree,
To pay for the wrong that he had done.

The boys were laughing and joking around,
Saying the price was too high for meat.
The General, somehow, couldn't be found,
So they put some stones 'neath the guilty one's feet.

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