The following poem is in a form of a dialogue between a mother and a postman. The lady has her only son at war and is eagerly waiting for any news of him.
Good Morning! A ye’ gentleman
Bid what tide thou hath bought for me.
“Good Dame, nothing, but a post
From your war gone son”,said he .
Pray tarry not and haste thou make,
And tell me all that ye hath got.
Oh! Tell me scores of foe he slew,
And like a lion he did fought.
Pray tell me that words these say,
Some good,of my gallant lad.
That he hath made his country proud.
By victory as we never had.
Blessed be thou if words these say.
That my Valliant soldier son,
Had bid,his old mom to rejoice.
For he, homeward shall soon come.
She now grows impatient.
But tell me why so down you look,
Pray,tell me what the matter be.
Jest not postman with a mother’s heart.
Please quickly give that post to me.
Postman hands the letter to her.
Opening the post, the lady saw,
Some words that she would die than see.
Those words were the cruelest words,
That on paper could ever be.
The words these said her dear son,
Triumphant,still, in death does lie.
Even the iron-hearted foe.
Wished not to see our here die.
It further said, a lad so brave.
As “Mortal Men” could ever be.
This “Man in Men”of purest breed,
Was” Man Of our Victory”.
Them, men be who fight, win and loose.
But sufferers, we the women be.
My son lays slain, some brothers hurt.
Some maiden widow would ever be.
Oh, what good can war bring to us.
Of what good can it ever be.
But in the books they’ll put it down,
‘twas a famous Victory”
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