A Mother’s Lament

Where shall I journey now my boy is gone,
for I am left in limbo, lost, forlorn?
The drum no longer beats. The fife’s at rest,
and March winds mock a mother’s withered breast.
Now beating through the formless night till dawn,
they drive the dust like tears as yet unborn.
Where shall I journey now my boy is gone?
My boy is gone.

My footsteps turn to tread the path of blame,
for he was filled with images of fame
by jingoistic calls to join the fight
for freedom and for glory and for right.
You promised you would honour my child’s name.
Posthumous decoration’s not the same.
My footsteps turn to tread the path of blame,
the path of blame.

The echoes of the wind that blow
breathe softly… silent whispers.
Perchance you hear the heart’s blood flow
while kneeling at your vespers.
The ground is hallowed where you tread.
His footprints near the river bed
were stained with russet where he bled.
Should I forgive your trespass?

 

Image Credit: Image by e3000, (https://www.flickr.com/photos/e3000/) licensed under Creative Commons.

(“de profundis/ the depths of sorrow” Statue of a mourning woman, in the cemetary of Mechelen, Belgium)

4 thoughts on “A Mother’s Lament

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