Under the Oak Tree

Under the oak tree, there is a bench. I see a

flag, and I see a stone. She is wearing black,

brings him fresh flowers, and tells him stories, sitting there for

hours. About the family that never was, about that boy playing

around his stone, and all those dreams that never were, hoping that one

day she could dream again. Too many heroes for me

and you, so many heroes, red, white, and blue.

So many families wondered once if it was worth their sacrifice. Under the tree,