Supine, she sprawls where she has fallen,
not one bird calls where she has fallen.
Dead grass covers her form like a shroud,
an endless pall where she has fallen.
The lightning-struck tree, stiff with black grief,
still standing tall where she has fallen.
Where is the play of green beneath trees?
We stand appalled where she has fallen.
We dance all night at her crazy wake,
survivors’ ball where she has fallen.
Walk with me over the graves of green.
Leave your prayer shawl where she has fallen.
