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.