The leaves fall down at Andersonville.
For over a hundred years they have moldered
Over graves where men lived and died
Of plague, starvation, and bloody flux.
Under the accumulations of seasons,
Footprints are hidden by moldering debris
Which cannot mask all odors of those who
Struggled to live and died surrounded by walls
That cannot obliterate the smells of Andersonville.

Confederates in gray upon the walls,
Yankees in tattered blue below them
Fighting not for their country's honor
But for the right to molder and decay and
Die at Andersonville.
Honeysuckle grows over those hallowed grounds
As woodbine creeps among the fallen leaves
Where birds flit among the ruins
And vie with squirrels for
Nuts and seed grown on grass
Which fed on those in blue
Who gave their lives at Andersonville.

((In memory of those Union soldiers who died in the Confederate prison at Andersonville, Georgia.) By Luther Butler ""