ANY MOTHER.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 11594, 12 January 1916, Page 4

ANY MOTHER.

Can he bo gone . . . my little son . . . Ho waits for me who thou gat to wait Long/years for him? . . . Shot down they say. All, babo of mine—Ah, man grown great I

I know not what those dear eyes met— What glimpse of hell—what .visions higher . ■ • For bloody battles are but names To women dreaming by the fire.

How brief are mother's sweetest hours — . , Once could I shelter him from harm, Within rav arms—so strong to him, What falls could hurt? What shapes alarm?

So short a way I held his hand To guide those steps—to still that fear . . • Until my care less needful seemed And he had grown so big—so dear.

All! Mother Nature gentle bo As I, once, by his littlo bed Knelt lovingly.' So care thou too Since to your heart you take my dead.

And resting there he will not know Such tears as mine nor fuici' such r>ain~— Maybe God sees that thus 'tis best His time for sleeping comes again. —Marjorie "Wilson, in the "Westminster Gazette."