So much blood on my hands,
Dried, old, not my own, but mine none-the-less.
Brothers and sisters–I have died with you on the battlefield,
My heart cries with each beat for your lose,
For the sacrifices made over our centuries.
Each of your gravestones is etched with my name,
I am your pallbearer, your namesake, your progeny.
I place the flowers on your graves,
Not for your sake alone, but for mine,
How else could I repay you for your kindness,
Thanks alone seem so hollow.
Brothers and sisters–I love you,
You are in my every thought and prayer,
Take comfort that you will never be forgotten.
~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~