When will the fighting be done,
My son,
For the pain of your possible death in the throws of war weigh heavy on me,
Repeating its torturous torments day after day,
Like a fresh flaying of my heart as soon as my thoughts touch your face,
Why must you be the one,
No broken heart or lost love has ever hurt me so,
You,
My own making in the line of such uncertainty,
Defiant and gracious in the name of honour,
You will never know,
Just how much your pride and valour imprison us that love you.
Be safe my soldier son.

wM