The fiddler crab reached from under,
while grass grew from standing water.
Trees a century old hang over,
just off from dry Civil War mortar …
The quiet fields now left remain
and bridges cross to link the past…
Seagulls just off the ocean’s break,
haunts the memories that will last.
May we have a gentler time
and never to return to cause such grief;
I walk on through the battle field,
to return back from the sun’s relief.
Copyrighted:   CMM  2011
All rights reserved; photos