If the trees could talk,
would their tales they'd tell?
Or were the horrors to great to speak of,
those July days of hell?
Would the mountains reveal,
their secrets of war?
Would the battlefields still echo,
the cannon's roar?
The evidence of battle,
was left behind.
Deep in the bark,
the bullet holes remind.
The woods seem to have,
a sound all their own.
If you listen real quiet,
the soldiers still moan.
The screams and the cries,
of the tattered and torn.
The shouts of the proud,
when their victory was born.
If the trees could talk,
yes, the stories they they would say.
In their braches of life,
Gettysburg's battle, lives today.