Stone Cold And Sobering

I paused in my journey

to the grave of my friend,

to commemorate 

a belated birthday in a

mid-December snowfall.

 The trees were skeletons

beyond the gate

 coated in white

It is as if the bones

 buried far below

 were pressing their way 

outward to taste

once more the 

sweet air of life.

All was purified

 and hidden deep

 under a thick blanket

woven by mother nature,

but my feet

knew the path so well.

My friend's stone

 soon loomed

 above the thickening drifts,

but windblown snow

obscured all but part

of its epitaph.

A name and the

inscription

 which once read:

Harold S. Nottingham

was laid to rest here,

born September 5th, 1951

Died: in Vietnamshed.

 now read:

January 11th, 1971

 forever cherished

Harold  S 

Not

here

HaroldS not here?

HaroldS not here!

 So I turned to go

whispering "Semper Fi, Harry."

and farewell to a long closed 

chapter of another time,

cryptically comforting me.

 Art~Whimsically Yours Studio

Matthew F. Blowers III -(c)-2016