My son, a poem

My Son
by Jeff Pepper

All of the badges you earned as a Scout
The rod and the reel you took fishing for trout
The fielder’s glove you wore playing ball
Remnants of you, son, we treasure them all.

Your girlfriend still calls us just to say “hi”
She and your mother have a good cry
I sometimes go walking down by the lake
The never-agains make my heart ache.

My son, my son, did you have to go?
Your mother and I, we’ve been missing you so
You went off to war, and there met your end
I’ll never go fishing with my son again.

A woman somewhere prays softly, alone
Her daughter’s en route to the main battle zone
She tries not to worry, but who wouldn’t fear
The flag-draped return of her own darling dear?

May their duty conclude with a loving embrace
No dreaded news, no chaplain’s grave face
No siege of despair when the anguish ebbs low
I wish these on no one, not friend, not foe.

My son, my son, did you have to go?
Your mother and I, we’ve been missing you so
You went off to war, and there met your end
I’ll never play catch with my son again.

Our leaders give reasons why it must be so
Are we to believe them? I really don’t know
If this month it’s one thing and next month it’s not
It gets me to wondering why my son fought.

You can’t undrop a bomb, you can’t unshoot a gun
You can’t unkill a person – once done, it’s done
Leaders, you must be surer than sure
There’s no undoing the damage of war.

My son, my son, did you have to go?
Your mother and I, we’ve been missing you so
You went off to war, and there met your end
I’ll never embrace my son again.

copyright Jeff Pepper 2004