The old soldier wobbled through the damp flowers,

headed towards the daunting tree,
that was placed strategically,
to hide the sun.

He laid his aged hand against the bark,
rough skin on rough bark,
both enduring the hardships that the
world bestowed upon them.

He remembered gentler times,
filled with soft carnations, freshly bloomed.
Perfume that made one's mouth water,
and early morning hours when the air
swept with lingering yellow, rays.

But.

He had always known the good days
could not last.
Loud sirens warned them
of oncoming missiles.
The screaming and the crying, piercing
the already riotous air.

He swiped a palm under her eyes
collecting small droplets from wet lashes.
He realized
the tears had become his own as he held
the broken promise of a better life.

tap-tap-tap, he knocked his
battered knuckles against the
twisted, cracked hole.
His lips cracked into a smile,
as he reached into the space between then
and now.

His fingers grasp for his little yellow
sun. It shone brightly, his
little golden ring.
He smiles as he did when he’d made his first promise.
As they planted the small oak tree together.