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.