Reposed in Rest

As I as strolled among the leaves, that Winter cold had brought. I stumbled on the resting places, of soldiers, distant and long forgot.

I sat in the chill of timeless repose, and wondered what would be. If I had been the one brought low, and another stroller saw me.

What would be the questions he would ask, as he sat reposed nearby. What would warm his wanting heart, in this cold dark Winter’s sky?

Would I tell him of battle scenes, the blood, the horror, the gore. Perhaps, maybe that would be, thoughts, young men adore.

The bullets, the cannon, the horses, musket, sharp bayonet affixed. I wonder if that would thrill his soul, reclined on dirt and sticks.

If I were he, and he were me, and the past was all but done. What would I tell this man, if that man, were my son?

As I lay there, as ghost and in silence, what story would he see? What hopeful memories from his long ago, would replay among these trees?

Would recollection rush through his mind, of the days we spent together? And promises read, in myth and prose, and happy ever afters.

Would he be angry I took this path, that pushed my heart to war? Could he understand the rage, and embrace what I fought for?

I wondered these things, into the dusk, as cold night began to fall. I stared at these weathered hallowed graves, hoping to understand it all.

Time is now coming, when choices will be made, decisions hard as stone. And just as those before us rest, we must fight for hearth and home.

I walked away, that grey cold night, day spent in contemplation. Understanding the sacrifice, of the fallen, and their quest to birth a nation.

Father Dabney