They were my boys!
Not mine because I bore them in my bed,
Nursed them, and cradled them, and bought them toys,
Dressed them, and saw that they were fed;
But mine because they used to come
To me and say, “It’s nice here … just like home!”
There I would make them tea, while they would tell
Me of the camp and what each day befell;
How their damned leader didn’t know a thing,
But had to ask them how to lay a gun …
Now on the wire and in the mud they lie;
And I am here, and all the chairs are empty where
They used to sit; the lonely air
Echoes their voices; almost I turn
To answer them. And I have but my tears that burn
For them … my boys … my boys!
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Comments
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I see the grieving mother as Australia. Lamenting for her young men (soldiers) sent to fight and die in someone else's war. Although entitled 1940 the barbed wire reference raises echoes of the first world war fiasco in Gallipoli.
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Words of a Mother
This is how I read this. The grieving Mother lamenting the loss of her boys, childhood, the empty chairs and their death which she still feels so strongly. A powerful poemlbveit heartbreaking from a Mother's perspective.
Von
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