A/N: Prompt 7 From zanganito: Thyme
Thyme
A sprig of thyme
Picked up, and examined
With almost careless thoroughness;
Eyes lift across the Downs towards the sea.
He wonders, for perhaps
The thousandth time,
How fares his friend,
Upon the battlefield he chose to join so selflessly.
~0~
Oil of thyme,
On poultice, skin and bandage;
It's antiseptic properties scant defence
Against a never ending onslaught; injury and death.
He drops blood and mud-soiled
Dressings to the floor.
He pictures a Sussex cottage, hears the drone of bees,
And takes a deep and calming breath.
~0~
Thyme symbolises courage,
An apt if fanciful notion,
As he strides across the windswept hills,
Thoughts focused on the distance lands beyond the shore.
He reaches the huddle of houses;
One meticulously wrapped package is dispatched;
One scrawled and censored letter is received in return.
Prayers answered; he could ask for nothing more.
~0~
A jar of thyme scented honey...
His first genuine smile in days...or is it weeks?
Easing cramped and weary muscles he leans back
On a much abused and battered canvas chair,
The war can carry on without him, just for now,
While he deciphers a hand he knows as well as his own
And catches the briefest glimpse of years stretching ahead,
With time, and thyme, enough to spare.
~0~