Richard Shindell’s song reminds us that even
with wars of necessity, much less wars of
choice, there are great prices to be paid.
lyrics
Must’ve been in late September
When last I climbed Reunion Hill
I fell asleep on Indian Boulder
And dreamed a dream I will not tell
I came home as the sun went down
One eye trained upon the ground
Even now I find their things
Glasses, coins, and golden rings
It’s ten years since that ragged army
Limped across these fields of mine
I gave them bread, I gave them brandy
But most of all I gave them time
My well is deep, the water pure
The streams are fed by mountain lakes
I cleaned the brow of many a soldier
Dousing for my husband’s face
I won’t forget our sad farewell
And how I ran to climb that hill
Just to watch him walk across the valley
And disappear into the trees
Along there in a sea of blue
It circles every afternoon
A single hawk in God’s great sky
Looking down with God’s own eyes
He soars above Reunion Hill
I pray he spiral higher still
As if from such an altitude
He might just keep our love in view
credits
from Letters Home,
released July 23, 2008
(Richard Shindell, Richard Shindell Music, ASCAP)
John MacLean: vocal and acoustic guitar
Seth Connelly: mandolin
Matt Leavenworth: violin
