CONTINENTAL MIRACLE

Updated: Nov 12, 2021

From the depths of Valley Forge, an army all but defeated and scattered, there arose champions of LIBERTY of what was to become the pivotal battle of greatest Nation on earth

The Continental Miracle

There I was

Dead of night,

Sleepless

Sick

Starving

In my plight.


Rag-tagged

I knew not yet the Nation,

My shoulders bore,

Clothes stuck to my skin,

Feet bare, bleeding,

Frozen and sore.


I helped push the long boats

In Delawared ice,

Then picked up the march

Of miles,

‘bout twenty,

No news from home

With mere script for money.

Alls that had wintered,

On sock-soup engorged,

Patriots we gathered

To follow George


We slugged and shivered.

We trudged bloody slush,

Passing men,

Exhausted-Fallen

In their tracks,

Sick-starvened

to death.


We passed a homestead,

Thank God they were Patriots,

For our only hope,

Was to surprise

the dastard Hessians.


Our Journey’s end,

The enemy in sight,

To our soul’s delight,

The British had party-ed

Drunk,

Christmas Eve night!


SURPRISE!

It was,

The canons roared in place,

The sudden onslaught of battle,

With saving grace

We routed them fleeing,

We overtook them,

scorned,

Thru the miracle at Trenton,

A Nation was born.




Author’s Notes:


OK. For those that know history. Washington’s Continental Army was defeated, retreated, stuck in God-forsaken bitter winter’s Valley Forge.

Many cold, sick, hungry, tattered freezing troops had left, given up, for home.


Washington couldn’t pay them. Those few that stayed, numbered in the low hundreds. It would take a miracle of bravest proportions to do what Washington knew he had to do.


As they hunkered around open fires, Washington addressed the men, asking them for the unthinkable. He asked them, it our last Solar Minimum, to take up arms, cross the frozen Delaware in wooden long boats, called Durham Boats. Most without boots or proper coats, rags for gloves, mustered what strength within and followed their General twenty plus miles that moon-less darkened night in blood stained slush and freezing rain, dragging heavy horse drawn caissons over hilly terrain, crossing two tributaries, past but one, thank God, one patriotic house, where Washington left guards to assure the SURPRISE he needed to catch the British crack Hessians brigade at Trenton Off guard.


He (and God) managed by miracle to line the canons down Main Street, Trenton.

When the canons fired right down Main Street and cross-fired down East Street the British were caught in the hellfire of canons, with their pants down, so to speak, as Continental Troops poured into town overpowering the unprepared Hessians.

The enemy was quartered and Washington’s soldiers were allowed no plundering, just boot gathering and left over Turkey and ale.


After negotiating to never fight again, the Hessians were escorted out of Trenton.


Trenton was strategic and Washington went on to win the Revolutionary War.


The Hessians, true to their word, settled westward, in Hot Springs, North Carolina, never to fight again.


It was considered a miracle by Washington, a gutsy move by men to whom we owe our Liberty - Thus the poem.

I dedicate this poem to Bill Forstchen for his historical inspiration.


tom tenbrunsel

Poet Laureate of My Domain

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