The flag-draped wooden box slides down
a cold steel ramp
the drizzle slightly dampens its vision
It is a dark, bleak early morning
my eyes blur, hours of bawling, heaving
dried tears on my face and black suit
my little ones hold tight
looks of fear emanating from their eyes
bewildered

Soldiers soaking wet, stand like statues
never move, no emotion
carry out their duty
the flag gently folds in perfect form
plants in my shaky hands as a gift
though I pause to receive
whispers of thank you
I stand motionless, rigid, timorous
I am vacuous, no one stirs me
thoughts ramble through my mind
why did he go?
Why him?
I am a widow