Gettysburg

Surely the shells never shattered the silence
Of these slopes, grass-strewn; this solemn sky
Cannot have canopied the cannon-fire
And cavalry charges, musket-shots — can it?
We went to war with one another, brother
Firing leaden rounds into his brother,
In farmlands, fresh-seeding crops of corn, barns
Burning as the shrapnel shattered them.
And yet no echo of those blasts now shakes
The mournful hills; the fences quiver not
Beneath the thunderous dust of Pickett's charge;
The graves of the fallen, gray stone under blue sky,
Lie undisturbed by musket-ball; and yet
The struggle has not ended for which they died.

T. G. 12/31/19