Nancy L. Meek
UNTIL WE MEET AGAIN
I prayed a mother’s most heartfelt prayer
That God might guide you through the night
Divert those bullets flying through the air.
For this, my dear sweet boy, a candle I did light.
But, no, you’re a man now, aren’t you?
Your future held forever in the hands of God
My heart numb, fumbling for something to do,
I plunged my hands into the thawing sod.
“You must keep busy” I kept saying
“Don’t think too long about your baby boy.”
Growing dizzy, I just stood there praying
My heart completely drained of all joy.
“My roses, it seems, need to be pruned.
My God, why did it have to be my child?!
Our plans for him… this grizzly war has ruined!”
My fear for you grew… like weeds running wild.
I pictured you there, screaming out my name
Like all children, who cry when they bleed
I thought surely I would go totally insane
Not being there to give you what you need.
But, no, you’re not a child anymore, are you?
Living now in a world you have never known.
I tore furiously at the weed beneath my shoe
Trying my best to think of you as being grown.
The guilt pouring through me like a rushing wave
I felt I may have been too gentle with you.
Grooming you in the way gentlemen behave
I should have known you’d want to go, too.
You have always been a man. yes, my little man
Standing up for goodness with everything you’ve got
I stared at the blood ebbing slowly down my hand
At the thorns embedded there, my eyes growing hot.
“Damn the war! Damn you! Damn you!” I had cried.
The curse somehow rolling too easily off my tongue
The anger finally boiling over… held too long inside
Forgive me, son, if I still think of you as too young.
Too young, I say, to be here listening to me now
But can you hear me, my dear? If so, please let me know
I believe that if you could, you would… somehow
Speak to me, from there… beneath these roses in the snow
I must go now, son, but I’ll see you again tomorrow
Maybe I’ll read to you a new story I wrote the other day
Would you like that? If not, then let it ease my own sorrow.
Till then, I love you, my little man. Ah, they can’t take that away
©Copyright 2001 by Nancy L. Meek