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Much That They Have Done
When's truly time to leave? When battle's won?
When battle's won, the living and the dead
All leave; the dead are gone, the living march.
The wounded leave in wagons, bumping on.
And pity those in town compelled to stay
and care for wounded men, and wash the blood
From red-soaked rugs and all those filthy sheets.
It all won't go away from sheets and rugs.
Then when will people come? When war is gone
And all those people come to celebrate
In groups of years divisible by five
and ten--just add to 1863.
Yet war returned and Germans came to live
And work as prisoners in prison camp.
Yet there were two that slipped away. They came
To beg for food--the farmer called police.
Then war was done, and in came Eisenhower,
And Ike and Mamie bought a farm nearby,
And Monty came to visit them, and Ike
And he discussed the battle while they walked.
The Eisenhowers came one evening--sat.
My family and I sat well behind.
We sat on bleachers while the Army Band
Sat on the field and played. Ike tapped his foot.
And so it goes--they've come to fight and die
and care and work and play and live, and--yes!
Remember. So much more they've done, but we've
Not time. Fear God and walk by faith in Christ.