In A Town Called Gettysburg

Ink lings

An army gathering since morn
To the west and north they form
Unrelentingly advance
Their goal of victory to enhance
In a town called Gettysburg

By mid day the tide has turned
The gray line will not be spurned
Union soldiers in retreat
To regroup, deny defeat
In a town called Gettysburg

The 16th Maine left to delay
Keep the surging force at bay
Hold position at all cost
Sacrificed, they would be lost
In a town called Gettysburg

Near three hundred men stood fast
Knowing well they could not last
Brave men amidst  shot and shell
Fighting on while comrades fell
In a town called Gettysburg

To overwhelming odds they yield
Dead and dying on the field
Bugles sadly sound retreat
Calling those left from the defeat
In a town called Gettysburg

Until the very last defender
The colors they will not surrender
Rip the silken flags apart

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About oldmainer

I am retired and live in southern Maine with my wife and two dogs. I started Oldmainer as an outlet for my occasional opinions and random observations, with some poetry thrown in. I welcome anyone that wants to kick back and join me here on the porch, exploring all the gifts we have been given and the memories collected. Thanks for stopping by.
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