on the contested border

a moment more and then we find the bone
worn down by weather but we still descry
that once it held a human body high
now it lies on the dirt sad and alone
waiting for someone to polish and hone
whose it was we shall neither know nor pry
this sober element that was a thigh
sharp as a tooth and one with every stone
the places we can hide it are but few
memories now fade of what it once had been
but it remains under the dripping pine
only an accident brings it to view
and it lies there obvious and obscene
not a dramatic warning nor a sign