There was a gate. at Waterloo. Station which many soilders  Passed on through ,
home from the war ,
but none of them were  you .
Passionately  kissing their loved ones from long distant shores ,
Life just passed me by that day,
just like many others  I had never seen before ..

And the steamy ,acrid smell of diesel ,
that brought a tear to my eye ,
that choking ,the stench of death ,
as others just walked on by .
have you seen my son ?
and I asked every one ,
what have they done ?
Not even a letter ,
or a note ,
I could trace .

I walked past soldiers some are dead some barely alive ,
Just to look into their eyes ,
yet none can compare to what now wells up inside .

Missing that’s how I now think of you ,
you went to the war ,
and never returned,
not in a coffin ,
or a grave ,
or in a hug or a kiss ,
you’re cold hands I could feel and touch ,
now I can’t even warm them up ,
Is something I will miss .

Just missing ,
that’s how I think of you ,
the door bell  rings,
and when it does ,
I think of you .