Michael Edwards





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.




  • WriteBeLight

    Very sweet and poignant Michael.


    Thanks MICHAEL ~ Love the ABSTRACT but the poem is not abstract it is real life for so many WAR WIDOWS ! Unfortunately we treat murder on the Battlefield as DULCE T DECORUM EST (Swet and Beautiful) PRO PATRI MORI (To die for ones Country). The Widows bare the brunt and see the face of their Love in the eyes of their sons. Thanks for a very poignant poem. Please check mine ~ thanks BRIAN.

  • Michael Edwards

    Thanks muchly Kat WBL and Brian

  • Phoenix8523

    Well versed and very poignant! -- phoenix

  • Michael Edwards

    Cheers Phoenix

  • Tony36

    Wonderful write, love all the art youpost as wwell

  • Christina8

    A very good poem about mother and son. Absolutely loved it. Beautiful picture too!-Christina

  • Michael Edwards

    Thanks so much for your comments Christina

  • Augustus

    Beautifully done. Touching.

  • Michael Edwards

    Thanks fort hat Augustus

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