The Indelible

Far, a widowed mother walked hill and vale, Searching her only son who'd gone to war; Love-blind; hopeful; day and night without fail, Heart-aches; foot-blisters; full of scar and soar; Stones pricking; thorns piercing; miles many tread, The scorching sun and wild waves she withstood; Sad! No trace of son's footprints, tears she shed, Each bird, each flower on her way she asked; He's dead, they said, in some war, so recent, Keep calm! Rest! Offer prayers as one should! Yet, hope doubled; task-focused; far she went, No mirage, could ever, her true love shroud; Winds and waves might erase your footprints, but Who could, mother, the prints of love, wipe out? “Size Six”