Mist Phantoms on an Old Battlefield

I'll admit that this poem is a bit on the strange side. It's also really depressing, and the last line is still a bit unsatisfactory. Hmm... :-/

Sodden cornrows,
Dank and still,
Drip with morning's clammy chill.

Solemn soldiers,
Cold and proud,
Wrapped up in a misty shroud.

Eerie phantoms
Linger long
Waiting for the martial song -
Call to war,
'Do or die,
We'll be free men, you and I!'

Misty fetters
Bind the field
Where dead men refused to yield.
Freedom's coffin,
Buried deep,
Leaves a serfdom to its sleep.





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