I was a blue rider for the North
delivering mail beyond enemy lines
dodging those bullets of course
reading secret routes, maps and signs.

I was a soldier on a limited time
for I took needless risks to get through
got clipped by a bullet it's a crime
I never lived past month number two.

But my horse is now a white charger
and we ride by moonlight at night
Two spectres looking paler and larger
causing both sides a spellbound fright.

To us battle is ever fierce and loud
as we charge both this way and that
pushing our way through solid crowd
anxious to be where the action is at.

I am a phantom of my Country's past
and I don't know things moved on
for the day still hasn't come to pass
that they announce that War is done.

By the waning moon I am riding
with a satchel of post for the boys
there are no soldiers are they hiding?
it must be one of the enemy's ploys.

But I ride a pale horse by moonlight
I sound my bugle when in the mood
and most who glimpse us take flight
denying we can be anything good.

The Yankees were always my calling
and I was loyal to Mr Lincoln's ideal
but in some ways I feel like I'm falling
lost en route like an ever turning wheel.

Battlefields still play out the turmoil
skies still thunder with echoes anew
I wish our side will claim enemy soil
so it's over and I can come home to you.




© .Garry Saunders