once
i sat alone at a civil war battlefield
in a picnic shelter
at dusk in the fading light.
i sang old songs
to amuse myself.
my voice is not golden
but there was no one
to annoy.
i noticed
at the far end of the shelter
the faded out shape
of a man
standing
and then another
and another.
there must have been
a dozen in the end.
i suppose
it had been
a goodly number of years
since the old soldiers
had heard a woman
singing.
i sang all the old songs
i knew.
the sound of a car
and headlights
diverted my attention
when i looked back
the company was gone