A Mother Cries for Her Fallen Son
For Mrs. Goldcamp, Our Neighbor
Never will the guns be so silent
As the silence after death
Of those fallen to fight “the cause juste.”
Is a common life so shorn
Or youth so plentiful
To be offered up this way
By the wrathful God
Who has known not childbirth
Nor the enfolding of life
Into one’s arms, one’s heart, one’s womb?
In righting wrongs,
Did my son, my own,
Die suffering?
Did he fear the end when it came?
Did he know my love
Would outlast the grave…
Was this just cause worth this blood sacrifice
Offered to the God of war…
That tears my heart always?
Ah, my son, brave man and true,
Willing soldier, mother’s pride,
Well fought against madmen gone berserk
Setting the world on fire again.
Sleep now, my son,
For the guns are now dreadfully silent
But still at ready for
Another mother’s son.
© Copyright, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw, 2000.
All rights reserved
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