Face of a Revolution

she looked at him
though young,
scarcely aware of sorrow
she understood

he looked, alone
at the white stones
as they covered the departed
and his face hardened against pain

little hands tugged at his garments
holding a little violet flower
and in that moment
the soft young face melted his heart

even in his final hour
the face, though older
comforted him, reassured him
for freedom was nigh