Colored leaves fluttered in a fall breeze
At my resting place, Salem Cemetery
Inwood, Indiana.
In 1862 I was the blacksmith of the town,
Bending over a red hot hearth,
Pumping the bellows.
Hammering hot iron into horseshoes,
Wagon fittings, plowshares, and other farm implements.
Hear the clanging of hammer against anvil.
I made tools of destruction
As the civil war raged on,
Brother against brother.
Political disputes abound.
I was killed by a stray ball round
Fired in anger at another,
As I labored in my shop.
Laid to rest at Salem Cemetery.
It was the fall of 1862,
When the colored leaves fluttered.
“Resting Place” was printed in Salem Cemetery, No. 6 of Inwood Indiana. Pick up the paperback from Prolific Press; the stories and poems published online are free to read here.
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