Picket’s Charge

One o’clock in the yard among horses tied – neigh I say

The remains of whitewash held upright – canned tight

Pecan shells busted in the grass – squirrels carried off to trees

Impossible for children to report their work – played to relieve

One in the swing of things – “you ain’t got that thing .  .  .”

One went through the screen on the door – flies delight

And two others played hide and go seek – “seek and ye shall find”

The Northern home a comfort from where the Confederate’s roamed;

During the serenade the pickets stood at an angle in the ground

Concentrated upon the victory of their foes – just for the fun

With the idea of reserving the wooden ammunition – for the assault

Crossing the depression of the ground – dared to cross the maypole round

Started toward the clump of weeping-willows – hid behind the vines

Picket’s division advanced with the wooden brigade – planking movement

The assault was made after the Irish Whiskey break – ‘Irish I were in the land of .  .  .’

Picket’s place of formation was but twenty-five yards from the damn Yankees’

But the drifting wood of Picket’s division exposed the planks of his right brigade – to the fireballs of Abner Doubleday’s sandlot play

Coming within fifty paces of Northern inhospitality spaces – it was three strikes your out

Of the hundreds and hundreds of boards Picket took into action – most were Union-Gapped, had become a midsummer night’s scream.

 

Copyright © 05/10/2013 Ðark Ṝoasted Ƣoetry®

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