They had a drink.
Afterwards
no one knew what good ol Smith felt
Before—
Before the drinks were brought

Cock the rifle (step one)
“Easy enough”
He pointed it towards the confederate boy

The boy had fear it was easy to show
And good ol Smith did know
What there was to do
In the whirling snow

He lifted his gun and pulled the trigger
The shot rang out in the snow
But the bullet didn’t know where to go
In the whirling snow

Smith reloaded ready to shoot
But then another shot was fired from behind his back
—and hit his head,
the blood was red
In the whirling snow.

They did exactly what their commander said—
Their count was five yankees for the day.
But without dismay they did not know
What good ol Smith was thinking
Before he couldn’t think no more.

But maybe only death will know
In its low and stony hole
Where the future and the past is told
In the whirling snow—