Your roads withstood your beaten, battered dust.
Chaos reigning, when it wasn't just.
Food was scarce.
You fed your meager rations
to your horses, before yourselves.
What a trail, from VA to Mississippi.
Some unspeakable deaths, like in Andersonville.
Where young well-fed Southern boys
mocked you as you starved in captivity.
Telling you they'd give you something to eat
for his uniform and breech.
The last things they had need of
on this Earth..
And the boys LIED and taunted
at their enemies desperation.
Around that same time, Walt Whitman once said
"There is nothing more beautiful than death."
Beautiful words to die by, as they fell.
And this immortality we say we want.
Just a thought, perhaps we ought not?