Of the of blood spilt
amidst a new glass left in Tennessee by Wallace Stevens
unhinged, dull, gray, widemouthed.
On a grassy hill that arches and bends down.
If you pick up that jar and listen,
Some swear that, like a sea shell,
One can still hear the Rebel Yell!
Unforgiving tin-types bloody and gray
Lincoln proclaimed loudly of Patriotism at Gettysburg
To try to keep the Confederacy at bay.
(Not for the slaves,
but for the money,
if truth be known.)
The North had their factories for guns and ammo.
The South had only agriculture, little more.
(Not even lint to dress their wounds)
(As was the custom in those days.)
"Round the hill where Steven's glass lay...
Surrounded by olden graves,
shot dead at sickening aim.
Just for wearing the Tennessee gray.
And some blue-clad never to see home again
Yet they stay still.
Home, slaughtered amongst Wallace Steven's jar.