The First of July, Eighteen Hundred Sixty-Three.
A Battle ensued, darker than any other in American History.
Man against man, Boy against boy, scores fell dead.
Turning the vast battle field a bloody red.
Both sides advancing, trampling bodies underfoot.
Their faces all tarnished with gunpowder suit.
Bullets whizing overhead. Some hitting their mark.
Screams of pain and anguish came from the eerie dark.
There are two winners in this war as I see.
The Grim Reaper and Abraham Brian, who is still free.
The Grim Reaper claimed over fifty thousand soles that day.
Abraham Brian a black farm owner, lived to farm another day.
