No Goodbye

With purity of innocence they stand in white row upon row on the restful green. Silver dewdrops cling to sharpened blades of grass afraid to let go. The crimson of spilt blood washes away into the pink of dawn. All that remained from the black night was wrapped tightly round the kneeling woman. All that remained from the scarlet red was in the poppy she wore. For death is final in its leaving. It is the grieving that lives on, in the breathing.