A field of lilies’ sway somberly,
Drifting as the breeze wants.
Unrequited love lost in a moment of madness.
One last thought, perhaps of their love?
Or just an inky blackness from where they still search,
After all these tears.
Still dressed in those cheap and coarse uniforms,
With boots waterlogged and unable to ever be dainty.
Unlike daughters they never shared,
Pirouetting for those cheerless aunts and uncles.
Emotions experienced from a picture with worn edges.
Questions forming on their delicate lips.
Like catching summer butterflies,
There is no rebirth,
No escape from a forgotten field in France.