Empty now that all have gone,
the link broken, the memory strong.
A harsh reality forced to meet,
as splendour dies about my feet.

In spring they came, when need was most,
a canopy of colour to shroud their host.
Abundant life they brought for free,
then winter came and pillaged me.

Standing now a broken frame,
arthritic limbs to shoulder blame.
My hope and trust that knew no bound,
scattered and buried in the ground.

How cruel to think one so divine,
has managed this all by grand design.
Comfort for some, but not for me,
bloody pawns of history.