A Mother's Grief Poem by Philip Lore

O' stricken mother's soul,
For your soldier, the sad bells toll.
Lay him down to rest,
From gunshots to his chest.

Your sorrow hurting so,
For him the bugles blow,
A young man lying cold,
Never to grow old.

No consolation,
Just frustration,
A folded flag from a grateful nation.

Staggering emotion at his grave,
Remembering his smile, his sad, last wave.

As darkness covers the sky,
Its hard to understand why,
Your little boy has died.