Poem - Flower of Youth

I remember still when I first saw,

Some years before that dreadful war.

A beautiful flower, in the bloom of youth,

Dancing between wild roses sways,

To a gentle breeze, in spring’s first days.

I saw her often throughout that year,

But life then drifted us apart I fear.

I came south, she stayed there.

Tended by her fathers hand,

Through the time before the Hotza band.

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Life meandered on with a gentle grace,

Till some years later I returned to that place.

To visit friends, some passed away.

To see the place where laid to rest,

My childhood memories I’d treasured best.

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Twas early spring but of this there’s no proof,

As through an archway of trees with protective roof.

I slowly walked, between the graves.

And there before me though I scarce believed,

Was my flower of youth so forlorn and bereaved.

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In her eyes only sorrow, on her face only pain,

She stared at the ground where her tears had lain.

Could I speak? After so many years.

But my thoughts she knew and her words in my ears,

I will never forget to the end of my years.

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How on her sixteenth birthday, just over a year before,

She’d met a young captain during a lull in the war.

Love grew stronger, day after day.

And as if driven forward by a fulfillment of fate,

They were joined together before the alter gate.

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How often that year he was forced from her side,

And with his men in front he’d ride.

Great battles were won, his name became known.

To the enemy a devil, to his country a hero,

In my flower’s heart, a blazing inferno.

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At the turn of the year she delivered a girl,

Who to the lovers became a priceless pearl.

Born out of love, amongst great misfortune.

She was the bud of the flower, her mothers light,

With her father’s pride and courage to fight.

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But then before the child had scarce even cried,

Came the news from the mountain that he had died.

Singled handed in the early dawn,

He’d saved a threatened village.

But fate decrees that hero’s must die,

And his soul was claimed for those on high.

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So her love story finally rests in peace,

A tragedy remembered by the people of Greece.

The years will erase the pain and the grief.

And my wilting flower will survive the gloom,

Until the spring once more bursts forth in bloom.