she gathers them up
holding them gently in her arms
there are more every day
like harvesting flowers
pick them when they are in full bloom
she walks barefoot in the fields
in a powder blue dress
big floppy hat to keep off the sun
she gathers them up
and brings them to the boatman at the river
he gives her one of the four coins he collects
for each one he ferries across
to the gates...
the gates....
one bright with golden promise of joy
the other dark and cold...
she hates the sight of the gates....
she wants her flowers to stay the way they are forever
tranquil as life in the country
serene as a sleeping smile...
she walks the battlefield that night
gathering up the fallen soldiers
she is death
come to harvest the late bloom
come to gather the souls for the ferryman
across to the gates of forevermore...