Dear Son—
Don’t seem possible you’ve been gone thirty days
As I sit here in my kitchen and remember all the ways
You used to help with the farm, tilling the land.
Half-way around the world from me, son,
And there were so many things left undone
Before you packed your bags to leave us on the bus.
I’m trying to be strong and brave while thinking of you:
The good times and bad like when you caught the flu;
Measles and mumps and all those sore throats.
And we thought we’d lose you that time with your tonsils--
So bad we rushed you to the hospital because you were ill
And the doctor made you better.
Don’t mind me, son, for being so sentimental
While you are off somewhere being a sentinel
And helping others get their freedom.
I’ll wipe away these tears today
And kneel by the bed and pray
That you come home safely.
Love, Mom.

(c) 2005 George E Thompson