The Empty Table

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.