Colin F. Jones


No Mother could ever condone a war,
Whose child goes off whom she adores,
To fight and maybe fall down dead,
With a piece of shrapnel through his head.
Tis a desperate fear that lives inside,
Where from that boy for freedom cried,
That rises to her heart as dread,
That he her child might soon be dead.
No matter how that soldier dies,
Despite the truth or stated lies,
The loss so great doth bring her pain,
That will always in her soul remain,
And they who sent him over there,
Will never know, nor will they care.