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“In Old Savannah by Stewart Stafford Quaking earth unleashed, An immigrant stands proud in the mêlée, Takes up the standard of his adopted country, And joins the charge. Blind in the cannon smoke, Grapeshot ricochets past, Then the patriot holds his gut, And falls bleeding. His wife awakes, To see his apparition at the foot of their bed, Morose and fading fast, Tears hang like ever-present Spanish moss on live oak. The immigrant stands proudly once more, Motionless and eternal on the plinth, A child with his father at the base points up at him, With future glory in his eyes. © Stewart Stafford, 2021. All rights reserved.” — Stewart Stafford
In Old Savannah by Stewart Stafford
Quaking earth unleashed,
An immigrant stands proud in the mêlée,
Takes up the standard of his adopted country,
And joins the charge.
Blind in the cannon smoke,
Grapeshot ricochets past,
Then the patriot holds his gut,
And falls bleeding.
His wife awakes,
To see his apparition at the foot of their bed,
Morose and fading fast,
Tears hang like ever-present Spanish moss on live oak.
The immigrant stands proudly once more,
Motionless and eternal on the plinth,
A child with his father at the base points up at him,
With future glory in his eyes.
© Stewart Stafford, 2021. All rights reserved.