the dead have no fear
they have left their loves
their hope and their glands
with the rest of their frames
here
they have nothing to defend
as the living raise
voices and hands
to sing towards
their own end
the battle’s been fought
the victory or defeat
now of no importance
they lay down
their thoughts
the dead have no fear
they do not declare
a win or a loss
their voices mute
here
the frail petals shed
by the plum, cherry or apple
in the eternal wind
are god’s tears
