Ancient walls mortared with enslaved hands to guard southern shores 'gainst ships of the Realm hellbent on conquest and possession sail'd from distant port to face her cannonfire and ultimate defeat where was born "Damned the torpedoes, full speed ahead!"
This nation's dispute o'er hands which built her loudly resounded, clashing brother 'gainst brother as American blood, both Northern and Southern, tinted crimson the foam-lapp'd nearby shores. The sea tasted salty tears of loss from both sides and she finally welcomed that war's end....
Forgotten by all but sand and seabirds, she rang once again with shouted orders and ready soldiers anticipating angry shells fired seaward to fend off enemy ships both above and beneath the waves. A few year's time saw her returned to sand and sea; shushing wave and blowing winds the only sounds marching her empty corridors.
Now the old fort listens to wandering feet and awed children's whispers 'gainst weathered and shot-battered walls. Echoes of the past seem not to fit in this peaceful place warmed by summer sun as this teller savors day's end from Fort Morgan on Alabama's gulf coast. Come visit this grand old Southern Lady. Come fall in love with her as I did long ago....
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