One of Lee's Soldiers by Robert Mezey
A bullet has overtaken him on the verge
Of a clear stream whose name he never knew.
He falls face downward. (This story is true
And in this soldier many soldiers merge.)
Among the pines a cool breeze, golden, steady,
Moves the needles. At an unflagging pace
An ant moves upward on the indifferent face.
The sun climbs. Many things have changed already
And will go on changing ceaselessly until
One day far in the future when I sing
To you who fell unwept by anything,
Fell, already a dead man, and lay still.
There is not even a stone to tell your story;
Six feet of earth are all your nameless glory.
© 2005-2008 Per Contra: The International Journal of the Arts, Literature and Ideas