by Father
The wheat fields are silent The soldiers are gone But the memory of death Lingers on and on Many a day and Many a night Have seen the soldiers Struggle and fight Once the trees Witnessed the blood That covered the fields Like a flood Once cannons blasted Once rifles blazed In this lonesome wheat field Covered in haze Once horse hooves pounded Once bayonets clashed Once infantry charged And once cavalry dashed Now all are friends There is no foe Upon this wheatfield Near little Shiloh