The Red Capped Watch

Two small figures stand where the garden grows deep,

Red caps on bare bone, neither waking nor sleep.

One carries a child, one still holds his blade —

The same quiet work that the living once made.

Are the caps stained with old blood, or only with clay?

Are they redcaps who lingered, or kin who would stay?

Do they guard what was theirs with a patient, dark care…

Or wait for the traveler who shouldn’t be there?

They will not explain and they never quite leave.

They simply keep watch while the living believe

That the boundary is clear between then and today —

While the red-capped remains go on standing that way.