My friend, Robert, has a very interesting blog. He is recounting the events that led up tot he siege at the Alamo in 1836. It is totally worth a peek--he updates it daily with a play-by-play of what was going on 176 years ago.

In honor of his work, here's another poem:

Within the Alamo He drew a straight line Across the dirt floor: Within, it was death-still-- Without, was a roar And a scream of the trumpets: Within, was a Word-- And a line drawn clean By the sweep of a sword. No help was coming, now-- That hope was done. No more the free air, no more the sun Bright on the blue leagues Of buffalo-clover. Travis drew a line And they all crossed over. Travis had a wife at home, Travis was young; Travis had a little boy Whose tight arms clung, But Travis saw a far light Shining before: Travis drew a sword-cut Across the dirt floor. And now the old fort stands Placid and dim, Blinking and dreaming Of them and of him; And now past the Plaza Other tides roar, since Travis wrote "Valor" Across the sand floor, And the guns they will rust, And the captains will go, And an end come at last To the wars that we know, But as long as there travails A Spirit in man, In a war that was ancient Before Time began, Here will the brave come To read a high Word-- Cut clean in the dust By the stroke of a sword. Karle Wilson Baker