On a forgotten fork in the road
Amidst a patch of unkempt grass
That many pass without a thought.
A simple monolith of local stone
In want of some repair
For time has worn away
The names of those
Whose passing gave it birth.
But once a year
A modest group arrives
To stand in silence.
Two frugal minutes.
Yet that moment still
Invokes the infinite
Which is the lives
Of those who fell
Unfulfilled.
11th XI 2007
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