Midweek, Poem, Scenic, Short story

A statues vigil.

In the cold the monument stands.

Frozen much like its inspiration, ready to die for all they loved.

Inside in the warm are those they protected.

Quick to forget and give away all that was fought for so long as they might stay warm, dry and feel as though they are safe.

So might a tear come falling down, if it were not for the frozen metal from which it would come.


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