War takes them here, too.
She furrows and sinks into the stones, knees bleeding with scar tissue from the years before, she has no home to call her own, a wordless breeze flows over the field, an open cut above her forehead that bleeds and bleeds and bleeds,
“Oh sergeant, why did you leave me here alone?”
She mumbles into the ground and sinks her hand into his name, a lifeless gaze looking back at her she gasps as her blood mingles with the grey, she quickly tries to wipe it away— but it’s worse, it’s worse and it’s clotted at his name. Red quickly seeps in deep they are becoming one and she is not doing well, not well at all,
“Come back please, I can’t do this on my own!”
She holds her stomach in the spring day and she is heavy with grief, a woman with no means of escape, no comfort to utter for the love growing inside of her, she can’t love on her own,
“You’re suppose to be here and love him, too.”
She stops only to feel him kick and she hugs herself tighter, she gets up slowly and places a white rose on the small cross, she heard him whisper,
“You must go take care of my child.”
She sobbed hard into her limp, she made it to the edge of the road— someone yelled,
“Lady, are you hurt? Oh gosh you’re bleeding,”
she looked up and saw the man’s blue eyes,
she didn’t live to see the child’s spirit as it held the same as her lover.