The Copse of Trees
We started out like Armistead
from the shelter of the trees.
The wind whipped by like a Fusillade,
the high grass at our knees..
The wind blew cold that autumn day
As we started up the rise-
The prospect of the copse of trees
Before us was the prize.
The flower of Virginia once
Paraded where we stepped
Until the double canister
Decimated those still left
Our force of two, no longer young
Stumbled up the hill
Numb with cold and short of breath
Proceeding forth on will.
No enfilading fire now
From the ghosts behind stone walls
Just wood post fences six feet high
Might our progress stall..
Brave Dick Gannett was unhorsed
Upon this very spot
Kemper, wounded mortally,
Was retrieved from shell and shot
We made it past the final fence
And up the grassy knoll
Defiant in the cannons mouth
(They’re unloaded, so we’re bold)
We passed the stone that marks the spot
Where Armistead left life
Where Rebel forces crested
Like the storm wave at its height.
The blue bellies yelled Fredericksburg
As the Crimson tide retraced
Half in Anger, Half in relief
that the challenge had been faced.
[...] Read more
poem by John F. McCullagh
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