Caretaker, groundskeeper, grave digger.
My job, an empty pit.
Occasion turns to routine.
I count the days. Months.
White. Pink. Red.
October to April.
War wages on.
Neutrality is a blessing?
I try to keep my eyes open. Or closed.
I can't tell which one these days.
My care wears thin.
. . .
I reminisce of days content.