Talking to you, I hear a cry.
I turn to seek its origin.
So quickly you run for shelter.
Will this weakness never end?
You say a word to ease the voice.
Another cry is released aloud.
In awe we turn to see a sight.
We are surrounded by a crowd.
Within the group there is a child.
She brings forth a soldier’s cap.
On the bill is a stain of blood.
Inside the fold there is a map.
With your right hand you open it.
Your eyes begin to scan.
At the bottom is a note for us.
“Remember we have a plan.”
A tear is shed from your eyes.
The crowd begins to leave.
Why did you ever promise me?
Why did I ever believe?

1-23-1999 Saturday
Written by Gail Brookshire