In Memory of a Veteran

One–she prays alone, each day, each night, each dawn, at each table, seat by empty chairs which wait for him–song, his song–his memory, which, upon release, soared high into a waiting sky–sung, with a single voice and melancholy bell and darkened timbre, last, one final time–a song perhaps forgotten.

-M. Duda

This is inspired by a touching story I once read.

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