King of the Mountain
And I did not know it then, but you were never to return.
O’ son of mine! My life is splinters from a heart that is completely broken.
We lament for our namesake and our very blood.
The night comes as it always did before.
The light will return in a scant few hours.
And I will face the day.
Service to country, they say.
The ash and sycamore bend to the winds; snows are driven and the rain runs
Ragged courses down the dirt path.
Away from where the trees grow,
The tarpaper rooftop sparkles in the spring sun.
It is renewal.
It is vibrant growth as nature shakes the chill from her cloak of winter.
And we look to this renewal.
We will always hold you dear in our minds and hearts.
Your memorial stone carefully placed by the others in
Loving tribute next to those who also gave their lives.
We trace the name smoothly hewn into marble.
That is all that is left.
That, your family and the many beautiful memories.
King of the mountain, my son, you were, and always shall be.
King of this mountain.