Quantrill’s Raiders

No Quarter, throats of wounded slit.

The party moves on into night, finds haven

in caverns of limestone shadows, these

traversers of ancient wonders below.

Even their horses, silent, swift,

seeking seeming minutes rest before

they start again. Both Hunter! And

the Hunted, they! This strange

and deadly army– Moving under

blackened flag, their desperate rage–

But in such valley of bloodied hands

history tells more tales of They, who

rest this eve on grassy banks– Sleep,

for at sunrise they move again for Sherman

who sets ablaze this fractured Nation.

A lasting image, defiance of the free.

Sleeps now beneath such shivering trees.

Published by Anonymous Captain K

Captain, EGOT, Astrophysicist, Speller of Astrophysicist Without Spellcheck, Cartographer, Breaker of Elbows While Rollerblading in my House.

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