I stood on turf green grasses
Covering your graves; 
I felt the earth tremble and shake.

I lingered stoic beside the dove-white crosses 
Marking your graves
as if in an eteranal salute.

I gazed upon the 
funeral-white roses 
that lined 
the stark cold stone memorial.
I heard 
The broken sobs
Of
    your dads, 
    your moms,
    your wives 
    your children
As they read THE telegraphs. 

I occupied the bunkers
for a few moments–
smelled black battle smoke acidy  
Mingling with red hot young blood spills.

I stared out over your black cliffs
To see 
Rust-red chunks of warships
Half-submerged 
in ocean’s waters.

I listened 
To gentle waves 
Lap unto the whiskey-colored sand beach
Leaving Champage sparkling bubbles
reflecting bright, and clear
under cold sun rays.

I listened to the soft kissing 
Of the waves 
Against the rust red chucks 
Of warships–
Taking nothing–leaving nothing–
Perhaps ……….
The red rust
Holds behind it
Crimson stains
Never to be 
Washed away.

I felt myself weeping.