Soul
of the South
A shadow is cast upon my grave.
Resting beneath this tree 83 years and many a day~upon my stone a wreath now lays.
Blood of my blood, akin to my brother, link by link my blood through her mother.
Early this May morning flags fly half mast, the wind whispers each soldier’s name that has long passed.
The sky a brilliant blue, the clouds billowing and white, the sun on the earth is warm and ever so bright.
Softly above me she treads, her footsteps ever so light
My flag, like my soul, flies free unfurled in the wind~It speaks proudly of a time and a place that had once been.
Slowly she bends and whispers to the head of my eternal of bed,
She thanks me kindly while her fingertip caresses my name in stone as each letter and number is read.
If only the dead had one last moment to speak, from
this eternal slumber I peacefully keep, out from this dark grave I would gently
wake, and into my arms I would loveingly take, this earthly visitor who has come
for my sake.
I would show her the world I had known, the places I
had been, if only for a fleeting moment to breathe life again.
