Army Mom’s Safe Haven



They fill the fields in mighty throng,
their spirits loosed by anxious sleep;
Their care-worn souls are borne along
across far lands and stormy deep.

There is no battle hardly won
in which a hero plays a part,
and falls to bullet, sword or gun,
but bleeds with his a mother's heart.

The shrapnel shell, the bayonet thrust,
which sends the soldier boy to rest,
and lays high hopes low in the dust,
deep wounds some watching woman's breast.

No battle pride nor glorious stir,
no wild red charge her will upkeeps,
but tears and care, and pangs for her;
She prays and suffers, longs and weeps.

She gets no honors or reward,
Such gauds are issued to her boy.
But in her love she can afford
him, comrade of her fights, the Joy.

Gallipoli, November 25, 1915, by Richard A. Crouch

From the book "War Verse" edited by Frank Foxcroft