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The ink runs dry on trembling hands,
a soldier writes on foreign lands.
Aca ndle flickers, the shadows grow,
his heartbeat slows, yet time won’t show.
“My love, the war has turned me stone,
yet in your arms, I’m flesh and bone.
The cannons roar, the trenches weep,
but thoughts of yOu are mine to keep.”
The air is thick with the metal’s song,
the cries of men both weak and strong.
A brother falls, a foe stands near,
no victors here, just loss and fear.
“If I should die before the dawn,
do not forget where I have gone.
Among the ghosts, among the brave,
I rest in love, not in my grave.”
The letter folds, his breath departs,
a bullet finds its place in hearts.
Yet far away, she reads his line,
and whispers back, “You’re always mine.”