A Bold Young Death

He left his home one winter’s eve,
In the year, 1863
To seek his fame and fortune,
And to help them make men free.

His mother cried and begged him,
Not to leave her safe abode,
But Pride and Glory called him,
So off to war he rode.

No foe out there could stop him,
There was no bullet with his name.
He’d make legends for the world to hear,
And all would sing his fame.

He caught the Union army,
In the hills of Tennessee.
He joined their cause, and made his stand,
And took his place in history.

A well-aimed bullet found him,
As they charged a Rebel squad,
He had taken not quite twenty steps,
Before sent to meet his God.

He thought about his few short years,
As he lay dying in the weeds,
Oh Lord! that he could have measured up,
To the legend’s famous deeds.

No children would he leave behind
To carry on his name,
His lifeblood ran into the ground
In this patriotic game.

To make men free, seemed trivial now,
As he watched his brothers strive,
For the glory and the honor,
Given to those who stay alive.

His muscles cramped and would not bend,
To the challenge of his command.
He envied his compatriots,
Who retained the gift to stand.

He tried to speak, to call for help,
But no-one seemed to care.
They charged ahead, the battle raged,
They left him laying there.

He tried to see the mountains,
As his sight began to fade,
He thought about his mama,
He cried out to God, afraid.

A brilliant light above him,
Broke the clouds and pierced the sky.
Angels floated towards him,
Sent by God, to help him die.

The air was filled with music,
He reached up to take the hand,
Of the one who stood before him,
To carry him to Glory land.

There are no words to describe the joy,
That burst upon his soul,
The angel took him by the hand,
And—————————————-