Lost Soldier

by Diane Graebner

The wild wolves were howling against the strong wind;
Not a single soul came and rounded the bend.

Near a tiny patch of grass,
Where the army had once come to pass,
Lying wounded on the ground,
Lay a poor lame soldier - who made not a sound

Near where the grass had been burned by a fire
Where still the smoke rose, drifting higher and higher.

There he lay, next to the ashes on the ground
Where there wasn't a movement, a breath or a sound

'Cept the wild wolves howling against the wind,
Not a single soul came and rounded the bend.

Cannon
"Arlington Cannon"
by Diane Graebner

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