Trees

Frozen trees, the bark a crumbling world of brown,

Flaking around the leaves which lay rotting

On the solid tundra that used to be ground

Digging in, sweat running from the backbreaking work

Dripping off of red, frozen noses

The rows of stones peek up from their snowy beds

Like white flowers sprouting

Up on the first of many spring thaws

Wreaths, stuck in the hallowed ground, their ribbons whip and shake in the wind

Holes all in line, six feet deep, the length depending on the box which will be within

Weeping greets the flag that covers all that’s left of the life that could have been

Grown men sob in dress blues and greens

Eyes rimmed in red, a widow sits in black

Her hands clench the lace that recently graced her wedding gown

Her eyes ask why as she glances nervously around

Settling back on once was and shall never be again

Marching to a cadence only they can hear

The seven men with grim faces stand, awaiting the order

Then fire off arms in three blasts to grant highest honors

To the man who left with so much for so little

A voice intones words of a God that are meant to invoke comfort

For the loss or lost as the case may be

But words mean nothing if they fall on ears filled with screaming

Or ones that are deaf to soothing

Lifting the red, white and blue cloth from the gun metal box

The folding begins

The precision of white gloved hands exact and perfect

In the silence, weeping muffled by a mouth clasped by a shaking hand.

Holding the folded symbol of a wasted death,

He hands the young widow this masochistic gift

His voice soft and gentle

Each rehearsed word like a knife in already broken heart

 On behalf of the President of the United States

And a grateful nation

Please accept this flag as a token of the honorable and faithful

Service of your loved one

She takes the folded piece of cloth

Shaking hands and tear filled eyes

Tell the truth as she nods her thanks

And sets it on her lap

The sound of a bugle starts to echo

In the white stillness of the morning

Ramrod straight and true

The brass gleaming as he plays

Day is done

Gone the sun

from the lakes

From the hills

From the sky

All is well

Safely rest

God is nigh

Fading light

Dims the sight

And a star

Gems the sky

Gleaming bright

From afar

Drawing nigh

Falls the night

Thanks and praise

For our days

Neath the sun

Neath the stars

Neath the sky

As we go

This we know

God is nigh

They file away

The broken hearted

Whose wounds are still fresh

And bloody in their minds

And as the Old Guard march away

Their steps in tune with all the others

The rifles poised just so on their shoulders

Their shoes reflect the winter sun

A lone soldier stands at attention

Waiting... keeping vigil

Until the dirt hits the casket

And the final shovel is gone.