In Gettysburg I walked
Amongst the multitude of monuments and marble markers
On Cemetery Ridge
Where bronze soldiers stand ready
And canons are aimed to meet
The gray Confederate foe
With canister and grapeshot
Rifle and bayonet.
I stood where Lincoln spoke and Picket charged
And heard a man boast to his son
“This is where we fought.”
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem