Unmortored brick wall,
ivy pushing block from
crack, there we hid and
played.
Our secret fort,
twice invaded.
Once by a girl.
Once by jealousy.
Two decades pass and the
fortress remains, the invasions
destroying our esprit de corps.
I fold our hand sewn felt flag
and lay it upon your grave,
formally as my military
training has taught me.
I salute you properly,
as I would another soldier.
While you waited back here,
did I hope I would simply die?
John Kipling Lewis
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/felt/
