At the Front
A poem based on a painting in 1866 by George Cochran Lambdin.
(The painting can be seen by clicking HERE.) He sits in camp unarmed. His body droops, fatigued. The guns are silent now. He thinks of home. He thinks of peace. He thinks of the days before the war. Reality is far different than the fantasy of glory That brought him here. He listens to the silence, the sweet silence. He wishes that tomorrow when the guns begin to call, When the soldiers resume the fight, That they would leave him, here, behind. He knows he is useless now. He can never kill again.
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