Light barely gets through
the dark days after Christmas
A mist softly shrouds
the treetops all around
coalescing into a soft soft drizzle
The belvedere stands tall
but offers no views
the valley is shrouded from sight
The trees stand motionless
to attention
as they remember
A dozen young men
picked up, at random?
and executed in these woods
68 years ago last month
we remember their names
their sacrifice
The mist settles
into droplets on branches
in mourning perhaps
The cruelty of occupation
spared to those in the northwest
who nonetheless fought to end it
Their sacrifice too
is not forgotten around these woods
on a dark January day
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