Colin F. Jones


Those Mothers whose sons die
To the brutal wrath of war
See only with one eye
For the other is too sore
That empty space she sees
Is with his memory filled
Like a glade among the tree’s
With their branches calm and stilled
There death gives birth to God
For love in every leaf
Rains down upon the sod
To defy the Devil’s thief
For what more can Mothers do
Than to trust that God is true