I might post later on, I might not. We shall see how the evening progresses.
a poem though -
hors de combat
for the dead and dying; to you, I bow low.
it is another footprint we
leave in death, last
of our own,
another in the scores
of the bewildered mourners.
you did not break form when
abandoning the body,
exchanging it to worms for dirt.
those left shall make new footprints
from remembrance of you.
leaving fading impressions in the grass.
- Hoc Scripsi