A young mother waits lonely,
But with war it didn't start.
It began with a with a duty,
To country and heart.
With her husband at war,
Things are not as they seem.
Lonely days are without end,
Like its some kind of dream.
It seems even living,
Gets more difficult each day.
And in each daily letter.
Things are harder to say.
No more grand parades,
No excitement to bring.
Even so if there were,
It wouldn't change a thing.
Alone with no husband,
No family and no friends,
Just another young mother,
Alone in the end.
1/31/05
by Gary Bryson