We lie
hand in hand,
your head in my lap,
under the shade of a low tree
beside a Normandy coastline,
in a field full of
white stone crosses.
And as the wind blows
huge, silent, grey-white clouds
across an otherwise clear sky,
and the hair across your still face,
I think about how many lives were lost
how much blood and tears were spilled,
so that we two could lie here,
so that I could watch you sleep in my arms
and dream of the future
and your silent charms.
Agitation of hands. Strength of words. 
I have somewhat stolen the title.
Very nice. Great imagery.
I love this one. It flows very nicely. Stolen title or not, it stands well enough on its own.
Thanks Howard.
Haven’t been writing all that much recently.
Glad you’re holding out for me.
Quality over quantity, my friend…