Custer Hill

Eric von Schmidt’s  “Here Fell Custer”

Custer Hill

At the foot of the hill, north of the stream
where the grass had been trampled down,
he halted his horse…stunned by the scene,
at the foot of the hill, north of the stream.
“Give me my field glasses…I hear a scream.”
he yelled at his scout….in frantic frown
at the foot of the hill, north of the stream
where the grass had been trampled down.

On top, on down where they covered the hill,
and laid in the grass, pale white,
except for the grasses, all was still,
on top, on down where they covered the hill.
In the dark of his glasses was a test of his will
and he shivered with terror at the thought of their plight
on top, on down where they covered the hill,
and laid in the grass, pale white.

Off to the east to the side of the ravine,
Where it was first, that he saw the horse –
a claybank… hurt and bleeding, his rider unseen,
off to the east to the side of the ravine.
The state of the bodies, all stripped… was obscene;
And he stared at them, shaking, with a heart of remorse
off to the east to the side of the ravine,
where it was first, that he saw the horse.

As they crossed the Little Bighorn and swarmed in mournful cry
charging into history up that hill
Crazy Horse was yelling “It’s a good day to die!”
As they crossed the Little Bighorn and swarmed in mournful cry.
That Custer stood his ground… is a fact one can’t deny.
When you study it…you can almost hear the cries….still…
as they crossed the Little Bighorn and swarmed in mournful cry
charging into history up that hill.

© 2012  t. j. gargano

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Filed under Custer, Custer Hill, poetry

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