His person just stood there, mesmerized, while standing near this lonely snow fence that was still dripping after a late summer storm's pour.
Upon fleeting touch, he backed away when felt was the wet of sorrow’s myriad of shed tears; … he would soon feel the stinging salinity of his own!
Through no volition and reportedly not so strange occurrence, there began a siren-like loosing of forlorn and mystic cries;
a sounding that would instantly chill the autumn air and as well anyone in the area.
These were always the conjured bring from tailing empty winds that rush thru and by this fence’s waiting pickets...
In her son’s field of view, these were the unknown mothers of different circumstance;
each standing erect and knowing what he had heard only all too well.
They are his stalwart Praetorian Guard, only long gleaned of any shown emotion…
Upon thought, his tears now began to fall, joining others to become rivulets of time that follow previous paths taken.
And now, through his still welling eyes, the vision became this phalanx of weathered but now endeared souls,
- who still yet, call out for the cold, cold company charged to their every winter’s keep.