Nine years before,
she'd left.
A German boy stood dockside
dropping dreams at anchor's lift
as she'd steamed for Pennsylvania.
Black Forest woods gave way,
as did the hearts upon the shore;
America
brought husband
and a 'gatehouse'
and a war.
That husband heard his call
and joined the blue
one year before.
On first July
the cannons
took the bricks
and sheared the sill;
war came booming
to her door.
Elizabeth,
and three young sons
fled Cemetary Hill
to shells and fate.
The life she knew, exploded
and the hillside howled with sorrow
and the tiny kicks
within her womb
begged prayer
for a tomorrow.
Two days hence
Elizabeth
would tend
the shattered wounded.
The aftermath
most bloody
saw Elizabeth
still tall,
dragging dead
into the new-dug beds
she'd delved into the hill.
"Evergreen, they call this place,"
her eyes would start to well-
"the earth can never soak the red
nor land forget this smell.",
and then she wept.
Next: 'John Reynolds'
