ARLINGTON

He looked up from his bedside…sad,
And asked again, “Mom, where is Dad?”
She looked away to hide her dread,
“In Arlington,” she softly said.

Her teacher saw the tears again
From dark, brown eyes…a girl of ten,
And looked away…and looked outside,
“Since Arlington,” she barely sighed.

He held the picture in his hand,
Then placed it gently on its stand
And murmured, “God, his day is done…
At Arlington…my son, my son.”

She baked the pie – his favorite,
And spooned the grains to flavor it,
“That’s how he liked it…sweet,” she said,
“Now Arlington…Would I were dead.”

“Let’s raise a glass!” – the piercing cry…
The old man rasped, “To those who die!
To all who keep our freedom won
And find their way…to Arlington.”

She read again the last words sent
From him in battle-battered tent –
“I love you so…wife, daughter, son.”
She wept the words, “From Arlington.”

And so it goes.
Jim Clark