I don't cry... but I cried for you

I wrote this on returning from the battlefields of France and Belgium

I don't cry
but I cried for you.

I didn't see you when you fell
into the sinking ground that became your grave.
I didn't hear you scream as you watched your comrades die
for something as worthless as a field of mud.

I wasn't there when they told your father, your mother,
your girlfriend or wife and children
that you weren't coming back.

And now I'm here where they left you
and all I can see is a slab of stone
like they gave everyone who fell, everyone who they found.

It doesn't tell me much, but it doesn't need to.
You're in the trees and flowers that grow, spanning the years
and taking you into another form of life without death.

You aren't here any more, but I am.
Perhaps I should thank you for that.