I stare at the small round table
Cloths so white and pure
I see glimmers of you sitting there
They fade to quick
The glasses are inverted
No more champagne and no more toasts are to be made
I place the single rose
Tied together with a ribbon as red as blood
Next comes the lemon with pinches of salt
To match your bitter fate
The tears streaming down my face
Lighting the candle
Praying upon the bible
The rituals are over and so are you
Only to come home in ashes and a flag
There will be more like you
And there will always be an empty chair
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