The Returning Soldier

 I brought to you, a white rose.

A white rose, painted red.

There were a dozen, roses where you lie.

But I painted this for you.

Your soul, so white, so pure.

Red, for passion.

I sat 6 feet up, and you lay 6 feet under.

But no matter what, I will be right beside you tonight.

I held your rose, over you.

And counted to five.

When I wispered five,

I let go.

As the rain washed away

the red paint, I cried.

It soaked the earth, soaked all around you.

Until it looked, as if,

you had died right here.

The washed away red,

was the blood you had to shed,

to be here.

The re-returning white,

means you don't

need to bleed,

anymore.