There is a grandmother,
living on Bancroft Street,
Who waits, not too patiently,
for the sound of the youthful feet
That were so ruthlessly sent away
to tread on a foreign strand
Hoping the time is now short,
when again they’ll walk
on their homeland.
And she hopes that never, never again,
the occasion will arise
When war’s devastation will
darken the world’s skies
And that our country will take
the place of a kindly big brother
Teaching other nations how to live
at peace with each other.
Twice, in my lifetime, I’ve seen
my boys sent to a foreign shore
One of them, lying asleep in France,
will return to me, nevermore.
But let’s hope, this time,
your task will not have been in vain
And that the four of you, safe and sound,
will soon be in your homes again.
These are copyright 1996 and reprinted with permission.