It's hard
     in winter's cold unceasing
  to wait
            patiently
 for summers hot
   Gettysburg weekends
  when even the night's air 
     is sticky
          and uncomfortable
  to rise early
             showerless
     on the hazy morning
       to a day of walking exhaustion
       to roam near aimless
                  to discover
       to walk
               where they walked
   and
        (when no one else is looking)
   crouch behind stone breastworks
      and imagine
     even raising your arms level
           to eye
  as if holding a springfield
    even dreaming to fire
          and hitting your mark
  you always hit your mark
         on the hot summer days
      imagining
but in winter
      you must pretend