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.