With a finger pressed
in chiseled white letters,
Delphi rubs silence
from the stones lining Arlington,
washes once bellicose soldiers
with an old prayer recited,
hears the long roll of drums.
Her bare feet press the echo
of church bells into the ground
beyond the bent green grass
grown about the singular flower
of the old Second Corp.

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Copyright © 2020 Kenneth P. Gurney

postscript

This is another poem from my past as I regroup from a week of spare creativity. Tomorrow will have a new poem, recent poem.