Michael Edwards

HER SON

HER SON

 

 

The darkling firmament above,

no star, no moon declares its face

and in a dank and dusky room

a widow sits in deep despair.

 

Beneath her coat, begrimed and tattered,

wrapped in folds of off-white linen,

an infant loudly vents its voice

until assuaged in nursery fashion.

 

The mothers mind recalls the drums

and as he marched, his parting words:

‘Take care and always think of me,

it won’t be long till my return’.

 

With passing years, and still alone

with just her son to care for her

a lettered man of measured means

devoted to his mother’s needs.

 

And proud is she of who he is

and all the comfort he provides

in this the autumn of her life

with just her faded memories.