When the Flowers of Youth Fell

When the Flowers of Youth Fell Winter stayed late that year courting Spring with a fury. Beautiful gifts of snow and dazzling ice, he gave her. It was during such courtship I found myself lost -- adrift in a place that once was .... decades from this century. Where mud and blood held hands beneath duty and honour and kindred flowers fell to sounds of bugle and drum. Smoke arose through Spring's tears. Images of Blue and Grey pilfered my breath as cannons rained thunder upon the brave. How was this happening? This was not where I belonged! My time was not this place and I wanted to go home. Where Winter courted Spring and snowmen fell -- not flowers -- upon the muddy ground as snow reigned upon the brave. The smell of gun powder danced about my head and nose like spirits for the faint -- arousing life ... far from home. "Get down! Get down! Get down!" The half-crazed voice plunged me into the mud and blood and I lay frozen in fear beneath his weight ... and the cold. So cold, no hearts were beating, no breaths were being drawn, just the smell of sweat and blood. The smell of rain and death. Clutched tightly in his pale fist a tattered blood-stained note bore the words, "Please ... for mama ...." I tried but could not scream. And, I felt daylight passing .... As shadows took the brave, Winter's folly tamed sweet Spring with final coats of snow .... and snowmen fell -- not flowers. ©deborah burch 3.08.2013