The Legions Fields
You walk through the ranks of the legions fields,
Tracing the outline of emboldened shields,
Feeling the coarse stone with the tips of your fingers,
And at the name, your hand lingers.
The wilted flowers that are lying beneath,
Where once from a beautiful blooming wreath,
Dying through months of neglect,
And your self grieving guilty regret.
The poppy on your lapel is a marker on your soul,
Imagine him laying there in his six foot hole,
Taken away before his time,
When he fought for you on the front line.
You always thought you could say goodbye,
But when he left, you could only cry,
Your loves name will always be,
Sketched on the wall of eternity.