The Visitor-
The town lay dark and sleeping,
people safe ,in beds were keeping.
Only I , restless , hounded.
walked down the street,
heart pounded.
What called me from my nightly slumber?
Something lonely, a despairing hunger.
Through the gate , a soldier stumbles,
in the distance , cannon rumbles.
Suddenly , in my arms he falls,
“1863? he said,” do you see the musket balls?”
His blood soaks through a letter,
he pushes in my hands.
“Give this to my Jeanette,
make sure she understands!”
With one last cold and wintry breath,
Like fog he disappears,
I’m bewildered , frightened,
for he didn’t know the year.
It’s 2013 now, and Jeanette is now long gone,
I keep the blood stained letter ,
in my mind the cannon echoes on.
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