As you enter this House of Sorrow

Observe the portraits of my child

Gone are my dreams of his tomorrow

Let the weeds, in my garden, grow high and wild

My heart feeling crushed as if in the Devil’s vise

Feeling my face – flushed, hot, and damp

My boy’s hand cold – lifeless and rigid as ice

Death haunted my dreams; in my mind has now set camp

Memories I fear one day to be out of my reach

My child, my son, why did you leave -

Much as the tide washes away sandcastles on the beach?

This tangled skein, a thread cut short as the Fates continue to weave

My ribbons I pinned to your chest

One of blue and gold, another of dark blue

Some thought I wore at my commander’s behest

In truth adorned my uniform, only because of the admiration from you.

~ Martin Connors