Lincoln's Last Ride




              Lincoln's Last Ride narrative poetry stories
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mike_mezz
mike_mezz Writer, historian and musician
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His spirit watched down from on high. (Narrative Poetry)

Lincoln's Last Ride

Lincoln's Last Ride By: Mike Mezz ( A narrative poem)

Lincoln's Last Ride By: Mike Mezz ( Contains actual photos )

There's a slow funeral train That's rolling through the hills I can't believe he's been killed

Everytime I hear the whine Of a lonely whistle in the pines It sends a chill up and down my spine

The war was brother against brother And it was fathers against sons Wondering if the battle had been won

Soldiers and dirt farmers Rival Senators stood in line All cried like babies when he went by

Old Glory covered him back to Illinois As Abe Lincoln took his final ride His spirit watched down from on high

The Infantry found a man on the loose And they gunned the assassin down Not waiting for a hangman's noose

He was the man who fired the shot That took the president down John Wilkes Booth bled out on the ground

Was it a Conspiracy or not? The good Lord only knows But people lined the tracks of the railroad

There's a slow funeral train That's rolling through the hills I can't believe he's been killed

Abraham Lincoln, was assassinated by well-known stage actor John Wilkes Booth on April 14, 1865, at Ford's Theatre in Washington DC.. at 10:15 p.m.

He was Shot in the head as he watched the play, "Our American Cousin." Lincoln died the following day on April 15, 1865 at 7:22 am in the Petersen House across the street from the theater.

Copyright © 2021 Mike Mezz (All rights reserved)

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