He never writes I only hear
That silence every day.
He barely spoke a word or two
Before he went away.
Your Christmas card was hastily signed
No note enclosed within
I keep it with those other things
Which little comfort bring.
What purpose is there to a life
When all we know is pain
How lonely every day will seem
Till you come home again…
The news of yet another death
Another young life lost-
‘We all must wait the bugle’s call
We all must bear our cross…’
Another mother somewhere sits
And wonders what went wrong
When did that silence first begin
That lull within the song…