Her eyes and demeanour belie her pain the most.
An orphan of war; his body unfound.
Buried deep beneath foreign ground.
For peace he fought and lost his life,
then suicide tore away his grieving wife.
Alone, eyes all a puddle, she stands. Two minutes never brings them back. Silently clasping her shaking hands.
While, we all remember them.
Do you think my attempt is too fickle for such a poignant rememberance? Leave me a comment its good to talk.
Thanks to the artist of Florence who holds full copyright, giffy for use of tumbling animation. Both poem and poppies are my own.