A comfortable rocking chair, a woven shawl upon his lap,
Lincoln sat in the Presidential box with trouble lurking at his back.
His guard had a terrible thirst-which he quenched at the neighboring bar.
The war was over after all-Who expected an attack?
Booth stealthily climbed the stairs, with murder on his mind.
John Wilkes spotted his prey, through a hole he had drilled in the door.
The South must be avenged! He would salvage Southern pride.
He unloaded his derringer in Lincoln’s head; the last Union dead of the war.
Clara Harris was screaming in terror, as Booth slashed her Beau to the bone.
“Sic Semper Tryrannis: ” Booth shouted, announcing the deed he had done
Booth’s spur caught on the star spangled bunting as he vaulted toward the stage.
Booth limped across to the door- His leg broken, bad luck for a man on the run.
So, I guess I just learned more about the assassination of U.S. President Abraham Lincoln, the 'Civil War President.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
'16th president of the United States (1861-65) , who preserved the Union during the American Civil War and brought about the emancipation of enslaved people in the United States. '