The colonel pointed his gleaming sword to where the Yankee cannon roared"That battery! We've got to charge it.! Guide on the center, color sergeant!" As the mottled ranks of brown and gray lined in neatly ordered array, The color sergeant strode to the fore, Where all could see the flag he bore Full of hope and aspiration, The defiant symbol of a proud new nation Frayed and ragged and battled scarred, Escorted by an eight man color guard. Where the Yankee guns stood wheel to wheel Bullets and shells began to fly, and the men began to waver Except a young corporal, whos was a little braver Tearing the flag from his dead brother's grasp he turned to his comrades"Come on!", he rasped. The sight of that boy waving the flag on its pole Was enough to stir every Southerner's soul They charged into that man-made hell. The corporal led them at a run Into the mouths of those blazing guns Rushing headlong into the enemy's midst they fought with clubbed muskets, bayonets, and fists When it was over, the boy paused to rest Cradling the flag up close to his chest. A simple bandage was soaked with red, where a Yankee bullet had creased his head. It might have been Shiloh, Atlanta, or Antietam. Johnny Reb would follow if the flag was there to lead'm, that bullet ridden banner told a brave man's story, And the bloody rag wrapped round his head, became a Crown of Glory. Published here with the permission of the author David Evans.All rights reserved.
Richard J.Andrews Chapter#2590
