AI Poetry

Did you see Randy Seaver‘s post on Facebook about the poem he asked AI to write? If not, locate Randy on Facebook and read his post and comment dated 4 June 2024! The poem is in the comments and it is amazing!

Curious about this feature of AI, I decided to try it for one of my ancestors, Washington Marion Crawford, who was imprisoned at Andersonville.

Below is the prompt I provided:

Write a poem about Washington Marion Crawford of Warren County Indiana who enlisted in the 2nd Regiment of the New York Cavlary in August 1861, was captured in Sept. 1863 at Liberty Mills, iporsoned at Belle Isle in 1863 imprisoned at Andersonville between March 1864 and November 1864, transferred to Charleston, South Carolina before being paroled in December 1864 at Florence, South Carolina, was furloughed home to Warren County Indiana and then mustered out in April 1865

And ChatGPT did not disappoint! I got a wonderful poem.

In the heart of Indiana, where fields are wide and free, Lived Washington Marion Crawford, brave as brave could be. From Warren County’s quiet, in August ’61, He joined the 2nd New York Cavalry, where valor must be won.

Through battles fierce and numerous, he rode with head held high, Until that fateful September, ‘neath a Liberty Mills sky. Captured by the enemy, his freedom stripped away, To Belle Isle he was taken, a prisoner of war to stay.

The winter winds were howling when he felt the prison’s chill, Yet Washington endured it all, unbending in his will. In March of 1864, to Andersonville he went, Where suffering and hardship marked the time that he was spent.

Through summer’s heat and autumn’s fall, in that dire and dreadful place, He held onto a glimmer, a dream of freedom’s grace. November saw him moved again, to Charleston’s Southern shore, But still, he clung to hope, and dreamed of home once more.

December brought a light of hope in Florence, South Carolina, Where parole was granted finally, a long-sought silver liner. He journeyed back to Warren, to the fields he once called home, A furlough granted, a moment’s peace, no more he’d have to roam.

April came and with it peace, the war had reached its end, Washington was mustered out, no longer must defend. His home in Indiana, where he could rest and heal, A testament to courage, and a heart that wouldn’t kneel.

Washington Marion Crawford, of Warren’s rolling plains, Your story etched in history, your spirit still remains. Through trials harsh and bitter, your legacy survives, A beacon of resilience, where freedom ever thrives.

I selected this promt because Washington Marion Crawford had written a poem about his experiences in the service: My Capture and Imprisonment.