In the South. Deep in the hills.
There is a forgotten town. Of a war past.
On a clear night you can see an old schoolhouse.
Next to a grave yard of soldiers from the past.
When the moon is full and all is still.
A light appears From a window in the old school.
At the stroke of midnight you hear a scream.
One that could curl your toes.
Then on a Whitehorse in the grave yard.
A soldier dressed so proud.
the school he did go. Riding fast as he could go.
In the window, you could see him as he rode the halls.
A scream once more and then a yell
The South will rise again and God blesses dixieland
Apr 23, 2017
Apr 23, 2017 at 11:22 PM UTC
In the South. Deep in the hills.
There is a forgotten town. Of a war past.
On a clear night you can see an old schoolhouse.
Next to a grave yard of soldiers from the past.
When the moon is full and all is still.
A light appears From a window in the old school.
At the stroke of midnight you hear a scream.
One that could curl your toes.
Then on a Whitehorse in the grave yard.
A soldier dressed so proud.
the school he did go. Riding fast as he could go.
In the window, you could see him as he rode the halls.
A scream once more and then a yell
The South will rise again and God blesses dixieland
This poem is in the semi-final round of Poetry Nation's Amateur Poetry Competition for 2016 .