Finding Life

I sent my son in all his youth
To climb the girdled peaks of fame;
To seek of life, the way, the truth;
And there to write his name.

He went from me with smiling eyes,
He marched to war undaunted, brave.
Ah!  Little did I realize
He went, but to his grave.

They sent to me a book to keep.
It once was his, who is no more.
I clutched it to my heart; to weep
Alone, I shut the door.

The storm passed on, but left its mark:
Where once the love of life had been
There wavered an unwilling spark;
God would not let me in.

I sent my son in all his youth
But he came back to me, no more;
He wrote within the book of Truth
And opened the door.

But I was left behind to learn
That life is Death, and Death is Life.
God did not mean that I should turn
Backward the page of strife.

And as I struggled seeing not,
His book I held as one asleep;
There dropped a pressed for-get-me-not;
It fluttered at my feet.

I stooped to hold the little bloom;
Yet as I stooped, I stopped to smile,
For in the shadows of my room
I found life still worthwhile.

– Circa 1947

This entry was posted in On War. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *