( I sent my son to the Viet Nam War.This poem is written in sympathy with today's mothers of soldiers, girls or boys).

The Casualties

When sorrow bows my graying head,
when one whom I have loved is dead,
I then will ask, "What worth am I,
that I should live while he must die?"
My son so young, so strong, so fair,
with whom, in my eyes, none compare,
that he be still while I yet live
is fate too cruel to forgive.

They told me I must let him go
to fight the wicked, heartless foe.
He marched off eagerly with trust;
his country called, he knew he must.
I scarce can see, my eyes are dim
with tears I've shed in fear for him.
I saw him through his childhood ills.
I sheltered him from bumps and spills.

No one was there when he was small
to help me guard him from each fall.
I know I'm truly not alone,
so many mothers toss and moan.
Each day I'm thankful he's not one,
that casualty was someone's son.
Now I am adding to my prayer,
"Bless every mother's child out there."

Joyce 4/01/03