A soldiers’ grace

A rose I saw once
In a lone crevice on the far mount
Thunder and lightning given birth
And nature’s own hand seen
A splash of colour, catching the sun
In the black space, erupting
To show nature itself of piety made

A rose. A hope. A rebel. Clinging to everything
In a treacherous cave. A bloom. A stark white
Contrasting the dark gray, where no colour seen before

A thousand trampling feet, passing by the cave.
On a path carved by nature. Untouched by mortals. Sheer
All passing by to fight another’s war.
All culled from peasants, fishermen and ironsmiths
None having eyes to see beauty.
An infinite tiredness seems to grip them.
Inured to it.
On a prayer that they return to their families safe.

I was part of this. This exodus of men going nowhere.
Without destination no signs of arrival greets them.
Only departure waves a solitary hand soon forgotten
Passing the cave I saw the splash and intrigued
I stepped in to behold the rose

Good sir, I have yet some suns to see rise, moons to fade
Do not pluck me before my time
For its said a rose sighted is luck
You will live
Today let me stay, to enjoy the sun