How can the fireflies flit from a bough to a highest place just below the Milky Way, without you here.
How can the blooms of summer arise in your absence, how can the cherish that sparkles between young adults conversing on a park bench - go on, without us, in my memory, we walk by them, holding hands, as, we were once them.
Is this but a tragic dream - as I pray over your bedding of repose, your gleaming white headstone, in a long unwavering line of other white headstones, then, sweet assurance speaks to me, though the song of taps separated us, one day, the song of taps will unite us.
In Loving memory of my late husband, who was a Navy veteran.