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The Homefront
As mother watched
a ball rolled on friendly sand,
red and white and blue and yellow,
through a thoughtful tearful haze
a forest of blurred legs
in parched pursuit -
shovels and pails dug forts,
they buried her feet in its walls
laughing...
While a mortar round struck
in Pacific sand
olive drab entrenching tools
dug a hole to hide -
they buried their friends
in its walls; crying...
Back home, stars of Gold
wept on windows where
tracks of tears
traced so much more
than raindrops.
Mothers left hugging memories
-wishing a kiss and band aid
could heal the wound
of a broken heart
Copyright ©
Craig Cornish
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