She looks at her tender little boy
Swaddling in a blanket too big for him
Serenely at rest, barely a stir
She begins to weep
Remembering that a time will come
When he will leave her side
And be united with a wife, starting a family of his own
Then the days will be filled with anxiety
For the next phone call, the next return home
Or worse! He may die before his time
She shudders at the thought of attending his wake
But now the boy is still an innocent
Unawakened to the terrible contours of the world
Yet to learn fear, yet to learn longing
She cradles her tender little boy
Cursing the seasons, the rhythms of life
That which turned herself from girl to mother
Is bestowing on her a hurtful capacity for love.
