The Thinning Plain Poem by Tor Magnor Solvang

The quiet field upon the hill,
Where once a shining army drilled,
Has seen a long and silent war,
The troops are few, and not much more.

Each morning in the mirror's light,
I see a further fall from height.
A gentle parting, one by one,
A slow retreat that can't be won.

No bugle call, no battle cry,
Just empty land beneath the sky.
They slip away without a trace,
And leave a wide and open space.

I do not know the reason why
They choose to leave and say goodbye.
But fewer of them now remain
Upon this quiet, thinning plain.

So soon I'll see what's in the store,
When all have left and come no more.
A final act, a change of scene,
A need for something in between.

The only option, I confess,
To hide this growing emptiness,
Will be to find a soft new hat,
To cover up the field, like that.