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Monday, February 8, 2010


With a knapsack on my back and a rifle on my shoulder
I joined with General Johnston in the February cold
My brothers died at Harpers Ferry fighting with A.P. Hill
I had only turned thirteen when both of them were killed
Papa kept me home to work the farm and plant our corn
I was itching to kill some Yankees and eager to go to war
Then I finally got my chance in the winter of sixty-five
A fifteen year old confederate soldier marching off to die
Yankees came through Charleston butchering what wouldn’t burn
Sherman took Columbia and continued marching north in turn
We put up little struggle with just our troops and the home guard
It was mostly out of fear. South Carolina was hit so hard
Shot twice in the skirmish; in the hip and in the chest
They sent my body home to papa where I was laid to rest
Now a broken headstone bent with letters bears my name
Mold and dirt have settled in engravings with the rain
The farm and house are gone, only parts of the barn remain
High weeds grow in rocky fields and round the rotten planks
Gone forever are the crops; cornfields, tobacco and cotton
Gone forever, glory days where old times were not forgotten

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About Me

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Poet and musician Fabian G. Franklin invites you to join him on a poetic journey through the soul and nature.