Tortoise shell

Strange, how a death leaves a mark,
that white bones are a legacy,
a tribute to all that has gone before.

Years after blood and matter are gone
their rightful place is empty,
the flow of energy disappeared.

This little plodding soldier
forsook a quiet life on grassy banks
and snowy silence.

He left the greenery of luxury
for an empty shell
and like a flat-bottomed boat,
reemed and jugged he left a husk
a hunted elephant's tusk.