“Come home” she whispered to
The memory of child so sweet who
Out in the day and gone for the night
Never yet returned to her sight.
Slight of suspicion plagues
Playground of worry touches all she says
Field filled with unmarked graves
Her son’s touch all she craves.
Crippled by guilt
It was her who caused her flowers wilt.
Join up and fight their war,
Nation’s pride in all what for?
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