Saturday 6 February 2016

From Home to the Trenches

Sonny, it seems like twenty year,
     The while that you’ve been gone,
And left me lonesome for you here
Trying to do my bit — oh, dear! —
     By keeping steady on.

I promised and I’ve meant to do,
     But now and then at night
I’ve been to blame, the times it blew
Like guns that answered guns, with you —
     My you — amongst the fight.

But in the morning “Dear old fool”
     I’ve seemed to hear you say;
“Mother, no need to fuss, keep cool,”
Just like the cheeky brat from school
     You was the other day.

You wasn’t always quite so grand;
     Once you was mighty glad,
Chased by a puppy-dog, to stand
Behind your Mummy, slip your hand
     In hers, the way you had.

Small son turned big, now that you’re grown
     And in a real war,
And set to face it all alone,
I’m wild to run and guard my own
     Same as I did before.

You’d laugh at that; but keep your fun
     Till fighting’s through, and then
Hurry off back to where there’s one
All of a fuss to hear her son
     Say “Dear old fool” again.

This poem appeared in Punch, 19th May 1915.

No comments:

Post a Comment