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A CENTURY APART
He lived his life A farmer's son, Rather horse and plow Than sword, or gun. A nation once wed Trying now to divide, Forced this young soul His life to decide. Barely three and twenty, Leaving those held dear, Escorted by a marcher's band, Shoulders back, fighting tears. Mists of early morning, Angel's kiss of dawn, Belied the angst to follow On a mid September morn. The son who coaxed from soil Harvests rich and ripe, Would now repay the favor With his blood, his life. A bullet stray had found its mark, Or perhaps was aimed true, No matter how the fate was cast His soul was free anew. A century gone, a year and ten, And on a western shore A father welcomes his new son, His own, his child, adored. Blessed with the blood of heroes, A gift, his mother's side, His father's sense of wonder, Of intelligence, of pride. The essence of that farmer's son Flows within the infant's veins, Wisdom of the ages Encased in that small frame. Too soon a man, tis now his turn A uniform to wear, To leave his home, his family, His duty now to bear. Two gentle souls connected, A century apart, Preferring peace to conflict, Yet with patriotic hearts.
One hundred and eleven years separated the death of one man, and the birth of that man's great, great, great nephew. The one man served at Antietam, and died, the other served in the Gulf War, and came home. One has his picture in a book, forever young. The other found the picture, and discovered his heritage.. The man that found it is my best friends son. This was a gift for him...he allowed me to share...
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