The roses sit atop her there
in fields of green where wildflowers bloom,
So pink and delicate and fair
they stand brave soldiers at her tomb.
To watch o’er her and company keep
as she lays just below the earth,
A cruel and unjust game of odds
ending her life so near her birth.
When did this world, once thought so warm
become a place where children die,
and mothers with their chests beat bare
scratch at the dirt and wail and cry?
The future had once seemed so bright
when dreams were dreamt through eyes naïve;
yet when now viewed through loss’s lens,
there is no happy dream perceived.
Could it be I’m that fortune’s fool
as penned in scene so long ago;
why meet her, love her, hold her near
to just be forced to let her go?~Kristin Binder