For My Mother
Women born into your generation,
Into the bitterness of World War One,
Were babes-in-arms as fighting raged around,
As nation battled beleaguered nation,
Until at last, the bloody killing done,
Some semblance of uneasy peace was found.
1940 saw your first gestation,
A birth the next great conflict had forerun,
Again the world was placed on shaky ground,
As war went on.
1945 saw its cessation,
An Allied victory finally won,
Relief throughout the country was profound.
Your brother died in that confrontation,
His race, like many others, had been run,
One of the tragedies that wars compound.
And for you there was yet more privation,
That which for you had no comparison,
Shown by that tiny sad burial mound:
Your second child.
Copyright © Beth Evans | Year Posted 2019
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