For the time that I last, I shall live in the past And remember the world's fading glories; The battles, and heroes, and songs that were sung, And the nearly forgotten old stories.
Though I've earned not a cent for the time that I've spent, And to many that's surely a mystery I now recreate a time that was great, In our country's own turbulent history.
Some call it a game, and some say, "... for shame ...", And, to the unknowing, it's a useless vocation; But I have shouldered a gun in the blistering sun, And I've shivered at morning formation.
In my jacket of gray, I strive to portray The private Confederate soldier, And though I taste not of death, Nor the cannon's fierce breath, I shall not let his memory moulder.
When I'm finally called in to account for my sin, And to receive my Savior's just sentence ... If there's a prayer on my breath as I slip into death, T'would be, God save the Old Southland forever!
Sgt Benjamin R. Gormley Haunted Fields, 1985
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