The empty army boots, a reminder that you are gone,
Recently given but still dusty from the mud,
No longer in these hard army boots will your feet march on,
Part of you left on the boots, staining of your blood.

How I was fascinated by your odd misshapen toes,
Received over the years of running new boots in.
You kept on marching, running, despite your troubles and foes,
Through the pain barrier, thoughts of your next of kin.

Another war that we can’t win, a complete waste of time,
Loss of limbs, loss of life and many more tears cried.
Some bodies never returned, lost behind enemy line,
Greed, atrocities committed on every side.

Like a child, playing, trying on dress up clothes, far too big,
Put them on, tie them tight, march around the house.
Feeling small, lost and confused, back as if I were a kid,
For I have lost my best friend, lover and my spouse.

Boots in the hall by the umbrella stand, no plinth or plaque,
As I walk past, in my stomach, an empty pain,
Again, I am reminded my man is not coming back.
Out the door, in the sun, but all I see is rain.