A small depression


Out back there is a cool spot in the yard.
On fall nights the air pools there leaving a
Misty white sheet draped like

Those American flags on the boys boxes
Coming home from some far nation,
Solemn, cold, dark

Faces of those men saluting
And I think of that cool spot sunken
Because I did not want to walk down

The newly turned ground from burying
Him, somehow it felt wrong, to trample
There in that moment.

I never went back, and nature came and went
Rains and such, then depression sunk,
And stuck, hence the pool of

Quiet fog, sitting out there now as
I drain my fourth glass of liquid life
And see again and again solemn

Faces of young men in blue dress
Wondering when they might return under
A curtain of red, white and blue fog.

About Pitboss14

Cosmic surfer of paradoxes.
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