FIELD OF BATTLE
By
Chuck Witt
November, 2011
Across these hallowed fields the cannon shot once flew
Beneath the burning noonday sun, above the morning dew.
Two armies clashed with muskets blazing,
Redcoats ‘gainst homespun, war cries araising.
In ordered ranks, they marched to battle
When musketball ran amidst death’s rattle.
When Englishman and patriot fell side by side
And lead met flesh, as some fled and many died.
Now these fields lie quiet and fallow
Pockmarked here and there with solemn barrow
That mark the carnage of times here past
And whisper for peace at last…at last.
By
Chuck Witt
November, 2011
Across these hallowed fields the cannon shot once flew
Beneath the burning noonday sun, above the morning dew.
Two armies clashed with muskets blazing,
Redcoats ‘gainst homespun, war cries araising.
In ordered ranks, they marched to battle
When musketball ran amidst death’s rattle.
When Englishman and patriot fell side by side
And lead met flesh, as some fled and many died.
Now these fields lie quiet and fallow
Pockmarked here and there with solemn barrow
That mark the carnage of times here past
And whisper for peace at last…at last.
SNOW AT ARLINGTON
Chuck Witt
November, 2010
Chuck Witt
November, 2010
It snowed here at Arlington last night.
And left an iridescent blanket of white
That covers the ground in pristine stillness
And sets sparkling crowns on marbled markers.
Gazing now ‘cross these hallowed fields
I see the sun glint from frozen crystals
Like stars are lighted for souls departed
As the universe sings to mark their passing.
The great and small lie here together
Side by side for all eternity.
In quiet repose as brethren should
To hear no more the call of cadence.
The air is crisp, the clouds are parting
The sound of horse’s hooves is distant
As another procession comes a’calling
To approach this place of final rest.
Soon will be heard the crack of rifles,
The mew of Taps played on golden bugle,
The muffled sobs of wife or mother,
The shuffle of departing mourners.
The pure white snow will remain ‘til morrow
The day when sunlight’s warmth prevails.
And the green verdure of grass peeps through
To lend a different stillness to this place.
There’s a gentle serenity here this day
‘Midst the cold, crisp air of winter’s stay
As I raise my collar ‘gainst a cool wind’s whisper
And reflect upon this snow at Arlington.
And left an iridescent blanket of white
That covers the ground in pristine stillness
And sets sparkling crowns on marbled markers.
Gazing now ‘cross these hallowed fields
I see the sun glint from frozen crystals
Like stars are lighted for souls departed
As the universe sings to mark their passing.
The great and small lie here together
Side by side for all eternity.
In quiet repose as brethren should
To hear no more the call of cadence.
The air is crisp, the clouds are parting
The sound of horse’s hooves is distant
As another procession comes a’calling
To approach this place of final rest.
Soon will be heard the crack of rifles,
The mew of Taps played on golden bugle,
The muffled sobs of wife or mother,
The shuffle of departing mourners.
The pure white snow will remain ‘til morrow
The day when sunlight’s warmth prevails.
And the green verdure of grass peeps through
To lend a different stillness to this place.
There’s a gentle serenity here this day
‘Midst the cold, crisp air of winter’s stay
As I raise my collar ‘gainst a cool wind’s whisper
And reflect upon this snow at Arlington.
TAPS
By
Chuck Witt
August 27, 2010
By
Chuck Witt
August 27, 2010
Across the verdant field I hear
The sound of taps, soft but clear.
The plaintive notes float through the trees
And nestle gently amidst the leas.
We solemn folk gathered quietly round
This honored casket homeward bound
Cast our eyes toward snow-filled sky,
And pray safe passage for the one inside.
A gentle snow drifts down on all
As winter follows on the fall.
The air grows chill, we hope for ending.
Tree branches shift, slowly bending.
They seem to weep, to share our sorrow.
Will they and we be changed tomorrow?
Will we note the sacrifice of the one interred?
Or the circumstance when it occurred?
Will we mourn for his fallen brothers?
Or let time dull senses like all others?
Will the twenty-four notes so softly played
Assuage the sadness in this glade?
Those notes will herald once again
In sun or snow or wind or rain
The sad refrain for more who’ve fallen
When they answered their country’s callin’.
So as we leave this hallowed place
And gentle winds caress our face,
We glance backward just once more
And tally up the awful score.
As the echoes of the taps here pealed
Fade across now glist’ning field,
The sacred notes shall reverberate
And remind us all of war’s cruel fate.
The sound of taps, soft but clear.
The plaintive notes float through the trees
And nestle gently amidst the leas.
We solemn folk gathered quietly round
This honored casket homeward bound
Cast our eyes toward snow-filled sky,
And pray safe passage for the one inside.
A gentle snow drifts down on all
As winter follows on the fall.
The air grows chill, we hope for ending.
Tree branches shift, slowly bending.
They seem to weep, to share our sorrow.
Will they and we be changed tomorrow?
Will we note the sacrifice of the one interred?
Or the circumstance when it occurred?
Will we mourn for his fallen brothers?
Or let time dull senses like all others?
Will the twenty-four notes so softly played
Assuage the sadness in this glade?
Those notes will herald once again
In sun or snow or wind or rain
The sad refrain for more who’ve fallen
When they answered their country’s callin’.
So as we leave this hallowed place
And gentle winds caress our face,
We glance backward just once more
And tally up the awful score.
As the echoes of the taps here pealed
Fade across now glist’ning field,
The sacred notes shall reverberate
And remind us all of war’s cruel fate.
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