Ancient walls mortared with enslaved hands to guard southern shores
'gainst ships of the Realm hellbent on conquest and possession
sail'd from distant port to face her cannonfire and ultimate defeat
where was born "Damned the torpedoes, full speed ahead!"
This nation's dispute o'er hands which built her loudly resounded,
clashing brother 'gainst brother as American blood, both
Northern and Southern, tinted crimson the foam-lapp'd nearby shores.
The sea tasted salty tears of loss from both sides and she finally
welcomed that war's end....
Forgotten by all but sand and seabirds, she rang once again with
shouted orders and ready soldiers anticipating angry shells fired
seaward to fend off enemy ships both above and beneath the waves.
A few year's time saw her returned to sand and sea; shushing wave
and blowing winds the only sounds marching her empty corridors.
Now the old fort listens to wandering feet and awed children's whispers
'gainst weathered and shot-battered walls. Echoes of the past seem
not to fit in this peaceful place warmed by summer sun as this teller
savors day's end from Fort Morgan on Alabama's gulf coast.
Come visit this grand old Southern Lady.
Come fall in love with her as I did long ago....
Written by: Mark@underthesouthernskies