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The sun was creeping through the windowpane
I lifted my head to see sparkling dewdrops from the rain
And in the fields, I saw someone slowly walking
He almost looked familiar, yet his face was shocking
As he came ever nearer, 
The realities of the war at hand were never clearer

My son’s right eye was simply no more
And his left eye was shyly cast down to the floor
He embraced me, sobbing, but relieved
To be so courteously and kindly received

The day my son returned was the day my husband died
It was the day when all my family sat there and cried
Sheets of tears from both eye sockets
Were seen on the soldier’s cheeks as he put his hands in his pockets

I told him gently that Dad was proud of him
His expression was grim…

The clouds ever looming over our home
He talks so little; he’ll contemplate and roam
The farm is tended to and the garden does flourish
The fruits and vegetables of our harvest will nourish
But as we are easily healthy and fed,
My son is stricken in panic and dread

He wakes up in the middle of the night
Clutching onto Dad’s photograph for dear life
The horrors he has witnessed I shall never know
And the gardens of his remaining youth shall never grow

Limping in the evening, he cleans his plate without complaint
I miss the days he used to pick on me—calling my main dishes plain
I miss his personality, his wit, his SOUL
I must learn now to rake his remnants across the coal

In the brink of sadness and stillness…

The bomb hits me to the innermost core
I HAD LOST HIM IN THE WAR

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