Oh mother, mother, where is happiness?
They took my lover's tallness off to war,
Left me lamenting. Now I cannot guess
What I can use an empty heart-cup for.
He won't be coming back here any more.
Some day the war will end, but, oh, I knew
When he went walking grandly out that door
That my sweet love would have to be untrue.
Would have to be untrue. Would have to court
Coquettish death, whose impudent and strange
Possessive arms and beauty (of a sort)
Can make a hard man hesitate—and change.
And he will be the one to stammer, "Yes."
Oh mother, mother, where is happiness?
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Comments
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Wow! what a very touching piece of work. It brings out some very deep thoughts on life changing and the souls of me lost when it comes to love...excellent poem...
novy
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we count the ways of life in many ways, and in the age of war for profit and gain, some still pay a price of loss and pain...and loneliness is not only counted in missing shadows and pillows gone cold, but in young men's eyes turned sudden and cold;
for war changes even those who only smell the acrid smoke and inhale its rumors...PK
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