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Whispers In The Wind
The day is warm, the sun shining,
a soft breeze is blowing, the fall colors are in
their glory.
Yet on this Georgian hillside, a heaviness is in the
air,
and an unseen stirring leaves ones very being
wounded and torn.
The sorrow of thousands of souls are calling to the
living.
Suffering is felt on the whispers of the breeze.
It is told by tall oak trees standing sentinel over
long abandoned wells,
dug to escape, bone chilling cold, starvation,
the blazing Georgia sun, disease
and above all the burning desire for freedom.
It is spoken in earthworks
built to keep others at bay with the weapons of war.
Had I not been told the story of this place,
. . . all is not well
would still have been whispered in my ears.
White carved stones stand is perfect rows,
dedicated to the men who died at this beautiful
place,
now tarnished by cruelty and suffering.
The feeling in my heart and in my soul is this...
It is their bodies that now rest in the red Georgia
clay
but their souls still linger
within the stockade walls,
and this is what they wish to tell us,
if we will but listen.
make sure this happens Never Again!
allow not yourselves to war against one another
again,
stand united and strong against that which ails your
country and fight together as brothers should,
not divided, desolate and alone.
May you leave in peace and may you Never let us be
forgotten .
He was getting old and paunchy
And his hair was falling fast,
And he sat around the Legion,
Telling stories of the past.
Of a war that he once fought in
And the deeds that he had done,
In his exploits with his buddies;
They were heroes, every one.
And 'tho sometimes to his neighbors
His tales became a joke,
All his buddies listened quietly
For they knew where of he spoke.
But we'll hear his tales no longer,
For ol' Bob has passed away,
And the world's a little poorer
For a Soldier died today.
He won't be mourned by many,
Just his children and his wife.
For he lived an ordinary,
Very quiet sort of life.
He held a job and raised a family,
Going quietly on his way;
And the world won't note his passing,
'Tho a Soldier died today.
When politicians leave this earth,
Their bodies lie in state,
While thousands note their passing,
And proclaim that they were great.
Papers tell of their life stories
From the time that they were young
But the passing of a Soldier
Goes unnoticed, and unsung.
Is the greatest contribution
To the welfare of our land,
Some jerk who breaks his promise
And cons his fellow man?
Or the ordinary fellow
Who in times of war and strife,
Goes off to serve his country
And offers up his life?
The politician's stipend
And the style in which he lives,
Are often disproportionate,
To the service that he gives.
While the ordinary Soldier,
Who offered up his all,
Is paid off with a medal
And perhaps a pension, small.
It's so easy to forget them,
For it is so many times
That our Bobs and Jims and Johnny's,
Went to battle, but we know,
It is not the politicians
With their compromise and ploys,
Who won for us the freedom
That our country now enjoys.
Should you find yourself in danger,
With your enemies at hand,
Would you really want some cop-out,
With his ever waffling stand?
Or would you want a Soldier--
His home, his country, his kin,
Just a common Soldier,
Who would fight until the end.
He was just a common Soldier,
And his ranks are growing thin,
But his presence should remind us
We may need his like again.
For when countries are in conflict,
We find the Soldier's part
Is to clean up all the troubles
That the politicians start.
If we cannot do him honor
While he's here to hear the praise,
Then at least let's give him homage
At the ending of his days.
Perhaps just a simply headline
In the paper that might say:
"OUR COUNTRY IS IN MOURNING, A SOLDIER DIED TODAY."
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