Praise be to the loving soldiers who volunteered their lives away.
It was the battle of Gettysburg, what a horrific couple of days.
Lives were deprived.
A short amount left to survive
Union and Confederates lost in the sea.
Nothing to be seen.
The raised guns,
Shots and fire.
They marched towards Gettysburg.
And with a surge of rage and fire.
Will planning win this battle?
Or acts of the moment get us out of this shackle.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem