The Glove Poem by Steven S. Walsky

The path weaved between trees
some of which
had seen battle weary soldiers
so many years before
when war was loudly knocking at their door
one hundred and fifty years ago
this past May
I wondered now how many men this path had walked
how many here to stay

And then I saw a glove
held in a bush's grasp
a glove of this time, not then
yet a glove still lost to human hands
it made me stop and recognize
that although one hundred and fifty years
may have passed,
we can not forget those tragic days
when men in this very woods
lived and died
as destiny called
as the die was cast
for battles
long after their silence
in human terms do last

(Copyright Steven S. Walsky, December 2013.)