I am an empty table-
Stained with wine-
As if of spilt blood.
I am an empty table-
I watched them rise-
To raise a glass to fallen comrades-
To the limbs of their yesterdays-
Somewhere- over a rainbow-
They’ll meet again.
I am an empty table-
When the lights go on again-
The silver-and the bronze-and the lead-will glisten-
As the lips of lovers whispering.
I am an empty table-
The band will play once more-
The bluebird will sing-
And some won’t come home again.
Written following Care after Combat Ball, 2017.