Arlington

Arlington Row upon row as if grown from the green carpet they stand starkly white at attention. Mute sentinels in the drenching sunlight. Although rooted and still, in martial regiments, they march endlessly to the joining of blue sky and green grass carpet. Those who come here find the etched places, the names; the beginnings and the endings. Those who are here cannot see, but only rest. At least that is what we who are the living think, although perhaps those who are here Turn restlessly at night and dream. Flag draped, veiled tears, percussion cap volley, the little girl sobs wrapped in the arms of her mother, his wife.