Your Little Boy Poem by joses tirtabudi

Mother, your little boy is not coming home
He's lying out in some muddy field, all alone.
Frostbite fingers falling off -
Sacrificed for the lapels of the old toffs.
Tears freezing etched rivers on
His cheeks that the sun once smiled on.
Those neat clothes you last saw him in
They now in tatters not fit for the bin.
And that family blood spills onto the earth
And we'll never be able to measure it's worth.
Mother, your little boy, he's feeling cold
These weary legs are getting old
His breath is become ragged
And those arms sag
Can't somebody save him?
From the raging dragon?
Sweet angels with their halos
Their tears like them be so lows
Your little boy, he ain't coming home
His bones lie in a field all alone
He's been lost and forgotten
Lying where the feet of thousands have trodden
Some resounding insignificance
In the chase of magnificence.
Your little boy, you won't hear him no more
He never returned from the war
You'll never hug him again
Never have him hold your hand
You'll never see his family to be
They died with him in the LZ
He won't hold your hand as you take your last breath
Never give you the gifts he gets
You'll never hear his voice again
Things will never be the same
Your little boy, Mother, he's cold.
Those weary eyes, they're about to close.