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.

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Robert Mezey


2005-2008 Per Contra: The International Journal of the Arts, Literature and Ideas