A time to hope to love to pray, a time
to wipe a tear away, to say adieu
a firm resolve, a hug, a kiss, a wave;
as leaden boots keep step so brave and turn
the corner no backward gaze or look to
spare... into the tumultuous din.
It came too soon to lose the child she bore,
to set a childhood free. To lose the smiles
the days the ways to slip maternal love.
Into the fray of fear, could a mother
hope to see her child returned secure,
the same that went away today into
the rancid jaws of death of bile of hate
of pain... a lingering anguished fate.
Perhaps it was a premonition, perhaps overwhelming love
that made her know her marching son was marching unto death.
She always said in years to come that something died deep inside.
The day she waved adieu to her son, her life... her love... her child.
