November Song

The days wear on and I think of you. Spring and summer and autumn's hue. In the chill of winter when nights are long, I remember you when I hear 'our song'. When the children look with enquiring eyes, I invent a story, spin little white lies. People nod and smile in that quaint, little way, embarrassed to find the right words to say. This time of year it's sharper than most and I struggle inside to lay the ghost of a love so enduring it's hard to breathe, as I stand at the cenotaph and lay the wreath. And as the salt tears fall and the last post is played and a nations youth to rest have been laid, we who are left must silence the guns that took our husbands, our fathers and sons.