The Home-Coming

 My boy's come back; he's here at last;
He came home on a special train.

My longing and my ache are past,
My only son is back again.

He's home with music, flags and flowers;
With peace and joy my heart's abrim;
He got here in the morning hours
With half the town to welcome him.


To hush my grief, night after night,
How I have digged my pillow deep,
And it would be the morning light
Before I sobbed myself to sleep.

And how I used to stare and stare
Across the harbour's yeasty foam,
Thinking he's fighting far out there .
 .
 .

But now with bells my boy's come home.


There's Mrs.
 Burke, she has her Ted,
But less the sight of his two eyes;
And Mrs.
 Smith - you know her Fred -
They took his legs off at the thighs.

How can these women happy be,
For all their bravery of talk,
One with a son who cannot see,
One with a boy who'll never walk.


I should be happier than they;
My lad came back without a scar,
And all the folks are proud they say,
To greet their hero of the war.

So in the gentle eventide
I'll give God thanks my Bert's come home.
 .
 .
 .

As peacefully I sit beside
His tiny mound of new-turned loam.

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