This hobby will amaze you, you’ll never be bored, 

From the green in Lexington to the bridge in Concord. 

You’ll stand in wool, your musket primed, 

A soldier lost in ancient time. 

The drumbeat calls, the fifes ring clear, 

Echoes of war still whisper here.

With tricorn set and powder dry, 

We march where once the brave did die. 

Their voices linger in the air, A silent charge, a solemn prayer.

By candles’ glow in tavern’s keep, We share the tales the past still speaks. 

With tankards raised and laughter bright, We bring the ghosts back into light.

Yet more than battles, shot, and blade, We live the lives our forebears made. 

The farmer’s toil and blacksmith’s fire, The mother’s hope, the child’s desire.

To wear their cloth, to speak their tongue, To walk the roads from which they sprung, 

Is not mere play, nor jest nor game, But honor bound to history’s name.

So, in the morning mist we stand, A living link, a leathered hand. 

Not actors here, but those who vow To keep the past alive - somehow!

By Carl Sweeney, Captain of the Concord Minutemen

March 13, 2025

Written in honor of the 250th Celebration of the Battles at Lexington and Concord