Frost takes the leaves
of the cherry trees
and the warrior
is dead.
A winter wind
blows from the east
and carries off
my friend.
In my heart
an ember burns
that through the winter
lives.
That we might keep
alive to weep
for sins we can’t
forgive.
The harvest time,
the hunt is on,
as summer turns
to fall,
but we still yearn
as the seasons turn
for a meaning to it all.
We give our lives,
we give our blood,
our friends,
our love,
our kin,
that there might be
one day peace
and spring will come
again.
HG – 2020
