Men fought and died

On these fields once;

Blood spilt and bone

Splintered, across

This acreage

Of God’s good earth.

Now all is so

Peaceful, the fields

Lay still, but if

On some windy

Day you listen

Calm, their ghostly

Cries and battle

Taunts are clearly

Heard riding on

The wind’s chill breath,

Or on some fine

Summer’s day as

Chill twilight creeps

And the full moon

Approaches, their

Ghosts act out once

More their battles,

Their deadly games,

Leaving us to

Wonder who they

Were, what their names.