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WWII and Waiting

She sits on the lone park bench,
in that little corner park,
with its five flowerbeds,
and a time-stained statue there.

She loves this place for its air,
and the peace is what she’d of said,
for here, life is not so stark,
and she escapes life’s sudden wrench.

The breeze winds among the flower’s scents,
life’s perfume so sweet in her dreams,
and she remembers him from so long ago,
and their time together so swiftly gone.

They took him from her, that long ago dawn,
on a beach, those hard faced German foes,
and she woke that sad day with screams,
and only time made her later pain relent.

That black edge telegram bore away her world,
and fifty years later it still hurt in the dark corners,
her life held him as a memory like a dark jewel,
since that June in ’44 it all changed before her eyes.

Since then, she can but let history flow by to sighs,
wondering why leaders of nations are such a fool,
making so many young women such sad mourners,
as deep and bitter pain in each heart is unfurled.

The neighborhood honored their hero in stone,
and set him guard over a small corner park,
adding five small flowerbeds to add color,
and a bench for retrospection and tired souls.

Here one might rest from history’s bitter tolls,
or pay a price far more costly then simply dollars,
and only in peace may a tattered heart say hark,
and perhaps heal enough to grant others to atone.

She sits on the lone park bench,
in that little corner park,
with its five flowerbeds,
and a time-stained statue there.

She loves this place for its air,
and the peace is what she’d of said,
for here, life is not so stark,
and she escapes life’s sudden wrench.