Poem 20150115

among the smooth grass
above the markers
three graces smile
holding hands
each looking in a different
direction

only one has faced death before
and it is her constant companion
a shadow that no amount of light
can banish nor darkness obscure
the other girls will never know
the same way
the touch of his cold still hand
in their own small, warm, ever-moving hands

but the soldiers
who wait beneath their little feet
who wait beneath the warm loam
who wait silently at attention forever
have shared this with her
before their transmutations
and now as she smiles
on this sunny day