I laid a lily on his grave

A tombstone bare among the pine

A gusty autumn evening gay

The rotting leaves become his shrine.

---

Five years past now, since he left,

I laid that death-white lily down.

Yet through the years, I cannot help

But hope these lilies make his crown.

---

They may talk of lords and heroes.

They may sing of kings now free.

But lords and kings cannot compare—

A hero’s heart I had in he.

---

The trees are full of birdsong.

Leaves render air alive!

For young and daring lovers

Springtime never dies.

---

Yet now a woman aged I stand

Above the unmarked tombstone gray

My lover’s life forgotten now

Left to lilies and decay.

---

Summer fades and dies in autumn.

Birdsong turns to crow-like mourns.

Memories of peasant, farmer,

Left to wind and left to thorns.

---

Let no one remember the peasant!

Let leaves conceal his grave.

Let widows weep in silence, now

For all he toiled, all he gave.

---

A choir sings, somehow, somewhere.

The birdsong tells of breaking day.

I laid a lily on his grave.

But the wind blew it away.

---

15 March 2006