Planted long ago, a single old birch
barely stands behind a little country church,
there, once to show the grave
of one who passed so brave,
a fallen soldier from 1863
died to save the union and make men free,
his remembrance long lost
as is the recollection of the cost,
the price he paid
the life he gave,
for there's no one left alive
him to remember, to long for and to cry,
only a broken marker now remains
just a date, without a name,
here under this old birch tree
planted once, in grateful and fond memory.
Very moving Smoky. I too love grave yards. The peacefulness is incredible and I sat resting at one only a few days ago. Thank you
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A sad story of many who are long gone and mostly forgotten. Love this!