WAR MOTHER The letter came with steady hands, No trembling voice, no shifting sands. He stood before her, proud and tall, "I've answered duty's final call." The neighbors waited for the tears, For whispered prayers and trembling fears. But silence held her calm instead, She simply looked at him and said, "Then you'll need more than luck, my son." WAR MOTHER! Stand unbroken, standing tall. WAR MOTHER! When duty comes, you answer the call. WAR MOTHER! Not by tears, but by your hand. You send your son prepared to stand. The very next day, town to town, She searched until the sun went down. A leather pack upon the chair, Each chosen item placed with care. A selection of knives with tempered steel, Built to last and built to feel. Luxury military boots, laced up tight, Made for endless days and endless nights. A sturdy pair of field binoculars, clear as dawn, To watch the hills when hope feels gone. No ribbons tied, no polished show, Just things a soldier ought to know. The mothers whispered, "Has she changed? Her heart is cold... her mind deranged." The fathers shook their heads in doubt, Not understanding what she's about. She never cursed the road he'd take, Nor begged the world another fate. She could not stop the coming storm, So love became another form. WAR MOTHER! Stand unbroken, standing tall. WAR MOTHER! When duty comes, you answer the call. WAR MOTHER! Not by tears, but by your hand. You send your son prepared to stand. She stitched his name inside his gear, Not with sorrow, not with fear. Each thread a promise, strong and true: "Come home... and these will carry you." She taught him how to sharpen blades, How leather lives when properly cared. She checked each buckle, every lace, Then held his shoulders face to face. "No mother wins by empty cries. No tears can shield the morning skies. If fate has written where you'll stand, Then go there with the strongest hand." Some called her hard, some called her strange, An anomaly beyond their range. Yet none could doubt the love she bore, It simply looked like something more. When dawn arrived, he marched away, She watched until the light turned gray. No waving cloth, no grand display, Just quiet strength to mark the day. WAR MOTHER! Stand unbroken, standing tall. WAR MOTHER! When duty comes, you answer the call. WAR MOTHER! Not by tears, but by your hand. You send your son prepared to stand. And if one day he walks back through The very gate he once walked to, She'll greet him not with tales of pain, But thankful he has come again. For love is sometimes gentle light, And sometimes boots laced strong and tight. Sometimes it whispers, "Stay with me." Sometimes it says, "Be all you'll be." She is the mother few understood, Who gave not comfort, but what she could. Not because she welcomed war's command, But because she loved her son enough To give him every chance to come home. WAR MOTHER! Stand unbroken, standing tall. WAR MOTHER! When duty comes, you answer the call. WAR MOTHER! Not by tears, but by your hand. The strongest love prepares a man.
