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It was early in the morning
the dew wet upon the ground,
when I saw the young boy soldier
standing near an earthen mound.

His clothes were ragged and torn
his face was covered with soil,
looking into his eyes I saw
the suffering, pain and toil.

He whispered not a word but
motioned with his hand,
pointing toward the mound of earth
that laid upon the land.

Then reaching into his pocket
he pulled a trinket to my sight,
a weathered, silver timepiece
barely visible in the light.

Upon the shield that covered
the watch he held so dear,
were etched the letters F S D
their meaning now so clear.

What once was thought as fable
the folklore has come true,
to the Fishkill Supply Depot
and those young men wearing blue.

For at the foot of this mountain
near the black-walnut trees,
lies the burial ground of soldiers
who brought the British to their knees.

He paused for just a moment
then knelt down to the ground,
with dignity and honor he
placed the watch upon the mound.

The wind began to howl
as I glanced upon his face,
he smiled and tipped his tricorne
and vanished without a trace.

I knew the time had come
his message more than fate,
"Save the soldiers of the Depot
before it was too late!"

by Robert M. Ashworth
April 23, 2013


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