The sigh of the breeze washes over,
This tranquil spot in time.
The words whispered here half remembered,
Like a lover's summer song.

Eventually this place will com alive again,
The laughs, the joys returned,
As soldiers to their wives.

Alas, for now this pond and Her flowers,
Hold naught but memories,
And soon, for I have seen, those whose
Quiet forms have danced on the surface of these
Quiet waters will remember.
And later, they will remember remembering.

But forget, no.
A place like this is not forgotten,
Like a winter morning, a day's first light.
They blend into every lovely sight, until,
They become the same and run together.

This Pond and Her flowers, will remain,
Distinct but undefined, as simple as a
Lover's summer song.
And reunion with this place still holds joy, As wives of soldiers know.
Those who've been here, and all that will come,
Will remember remembering, until their memories run together.
But still I see,
This Pond and Her flowers.