As he walked through the rows of crosses,
His mind drifted back to the past.
Where his life was constant warfare,
Always fighting for his life.
He heard the gunshots fire again,
Saw the crimson liquid on his hands.
He remembered the air heavy with the smell of blood,
The screams of pain filling his ears.
The markers changed and he snapped out his memories,
He closed his eyes and concentrated,
On the present, the sound of the leaves crunching under his feet.
Not the thoughts of the past.
Opening his eyes he knelt down on the ground,
Laying the scarlet poppy on the ground he swept the leaves off the grave.
Bowing his head he thought of the good times,
The times before.
Opening his eyes he stood up,
A single tear trailing down his cheek.
He wiped it off and stood up,
Sparing one last look at the cross he smiled.
"Till next time old friend."