In the spring of 1999, I ventured to Arkansas to Prairie Grove. There I walked the battleground where men had fought and died during the Civil War. A strange feeling came over me as though I were not alone in that field. I could almost here the cries of those who were wounded there. I could smell the acrid smoke from the canons. I knew that someone's son had not gone home.
 
 
Ghosts in the Sun
 

As I walked the field of Prairie Grove,
I smelled the smoke and heard the guns;
I felt the pain of men shot there,
And knew that they were someone's son.

The field is peaceful now,
With green grass and big shade trees;
But blood flowed onto this ground,
As men fought to be free.

Many were hurt and many were maimed,
And some gave all with their lives;
Some families lost their homes,
Men left waiting futilely--their wives.

Life was never the same there,
After the war was over and done;
Even though the flowers bloom,
Ghosts still walk in the sun.
 
 
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