Monday, December 26, 2005

1945 A mother's poem for her sons at war

One of the boxes I pushed around today was genealogy, and I found a poem written by my grandmother in 1945. The hand writing was my aunt Marian's because my grandmother was blind. She had three sons in the service during WWII. I've been seeing a lot of service people sending holiday greetings, so here's to all of you who wait for them to come home. You're not alone.

As I sit alone,
thinking back over time,
I recall pleasant memories
that once were mine.

When I rocked two little boys,
One in each arm,
and tucked them in bed
without fear of harm.

A few years later
the third son was there
to occupy his place
in the old rocking chair.

Little did I think then
that the day would come when
they would all be scattered afar
to serve in this awful war.

Poor John fights desperately
to see Germany collapse,
while Howard guards our shores
from those terrible Japs.

Joe Russell will fight on
Till the battle is won,
and the last Japanese
is brought to his knees.

To myself, and all mothers I say,
be patient, and brave,
and never cease to pray
until the boys come home to stay.

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