Mourning. Poem by Fay Slimm

In the middle of a grey fog-heavy lawn
she stood all alone,
tipped her head back to let out a moan
and walls caught the wail,
transferred her mourning to a raw sky
as she shouted again
for answers to WHY did he have to die.
His ship was only
carrying supplies to war-weary sailors.
She impaled the same pain
of the many who had questioned before
over graveyard railings,
her cry rent the air in uncontrolled grief
It passed thru' bare trees
and slick as oiled rope uncoiling, bedded
silently into the sea,
revealing wet Death wears casual smiles
when hearing sunk grief.
Wartime agony came close to destroying
those who were left behind.
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