At the sunrise of one Georgia morning
I sat with in a field of pure green grass,
even that grass of home, watching,
as a light breeze blew each blade,
presenting to me its own dance of life.
Dew had cried up them, those blades,
becoming to me tear drops,
those of southern soldiers,
having baptized this land with their blood.
And my love's soul lay upon it, this land,
as he sleeps an eternal sleep,
deep within its core,
in the company of so many.
I am forever laden with the burden
to never love again,
never as I once had then.
For his loyalty and courage, that of my love,
prevailed for the sake of his family, his country, his home.
Is it that he will remember me,
in the eternal realm of lives.
Will he know, will he believe its me.
Yes, it is my selfishness,
in the need to be loved even as he,
that does plague my soul.
Yet I forget not,
all that has been given,
for the sake of tradition,
for the sake of love,
for the sake of Dixie.
I am not, I know,
the only widow left behind.
Though I am forever the only one,
to remember him.
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