Artillery Man

Abe Lincoln roused the nation
to keep it whole and free,
a summons answered by thousands
young patriots much like me.

Leaving the bosom of family
in innocence we all went forth
following flag and drum roll
in the light of liberty’s torch.

Battery A of horse artillery
resplendent with stars in our eyes,
knowing what was awaiting us
would have come as a big surprise.

Two years we had as soldiers
before calamity struck,
that bloody day in the wilderness
is when our number came up.

We fired our guns at the rebels
decimating their ranks,
frantic cursing from officers
our meager and only thanks.

Then the caisson exploded beside us
our death was painless and swift,
no suffering of grisly torments
was our maker’s merciful gift.

I wandered confused in silence
not hearing the battle’s roar,
slowly I came to realize
I was a cannoneer no more.

We witnessed a parade in our city
with no brass bands or cheers,
the street was full of hearses
and lined with people in tears.

There stood mom and dad with my sister
consumed by sadness and grief,
not cheering or waving a welcome
but cursing the war as a thief.

We followed them to the graveyard
the last place we would roam,
perplexed by the swift finality
battery A had finally come home.


by Robert Quinn
all rights reserved