A crispy silver moonlight shone
upon the frosty leaves,
and by a gravestone, in a field,
a lonely woman grieved.
A tawny owl on silent wings
alighted on its prey.
The light lit up the lady's face,
all ashen, white and grey.
Each tear that fell upon the frost
made crystals with the moon.
Alas, the gravestone damned the night:
"Taken Far Too Soon"
He lived and, Oh! he fought so well
upon this frozen ground;
now wailings and their screams of pain,
throughout the night, abound.
Belated congratulations, Ben. I like this poem, especially the near rhymes. Often a rhyme that shared a sound like the "T' in Frost and Night offers an excellent subtle lift that is nice to see.
We had our Anzac Day here on 25th and, once again we could not attend the dawn service because of Covid. Someone went to the top of the hill and played the last post along with some other appropriate music through loudspeakers so every corner of this place could here it...it was pretty cool and a creative way of remembering those served their countries. Your poem is another fitting way of remembering those we never came back...brought a little lump to my throat.