TheAmericanCivilWar

I’m laying on the battleground. I have been wounded, not yet found, And as the nighttime comes around, I have no thoughts that are profound, The air seems cold and dreary. The guts of brothers stain the mud, We won our great engagement but I have been hit and now my blood Drips down from flesh that’s weary. In Shiloh we had met the foe And as I lie here in a row Of injured men in painful throe, My wound emits a blueish glow That lights the darkness dreary. A gleaming, just like fireflies, From many soldier’s wounds arise. It seems like fairies in disguise Who’re dancing weird and weary. The glow shines bright, I’m found at last, Half conscious on this field so vast. How many hours may have passed? It doesn’t matter, very fast I’m dragged from grasslands dreary. My shot wound glints, the healing’s quick, What is this otherworldly trick? The wonder almost makes me sick As angels left me weary.