Standing there she wrings her hands
The light falls on her thinning hair,
Shadow hides the worried eyes
Which fixate in a distant stare.

Years ago the husband left,
Left despite the child inside,
Despite the growing pile of debt,
He left it all to run and hide.

The boy is born one winter morn
Born with golden curls of mane,
He grows despite the hardship felt,
He grows to suit his noble name.

Boaz is his given name
The Hebrew word for strength and strong,
His mother’s strength of character
Is echoed in his blue eyed song.

Lean and long and strong in frame
A ready smile upon his face,
Beneath his long blond curling locks
Expressing his good humoured grace.

Thinly proud she meets each day,
She bears the hardship, every storm,
Thinly proud she loves the boy
Who runs in rows of growing corn.

Standing there she wrings her hands
A worried mother’s reddened face,
For battle’s flag has called her boy
Who volunteers with pride and grace.

With brimming eyes she thinks of him
Holding close his teddy bear,
Thinking of the laughing moments
Happy times they used to share.

Short letters from the front arrive
A message filled with love and joy
To reassure a mother’s fears,
In promise for her darling boy.

A silence from the distant front
The drums and guns have sung their song,
Chilling tales of valour but,
Combatants now do homeward throng.

Standing there she wrings her hands
With streaming tears as hopes depart,
A deathly silent distant field
Where lies the promise in her heart.

Marshalg
For all the mothers who wait.
20 June 2013