What would you tell us?
The fields now bare.
No trace.
Your face, your smile,
still with us.
A fading photograph.
Bright twinkling eyes.
A youthful grin.
No sign.
Officialdom
curtly concludes
’killed in action’.
The poppy pin
pricks my finger.
A tear of blood
for my mother's
brother.
The uncle
we never knew.