by Becky Brown

Early 1940's

I look at my son with love
My small happy son who runs lightly on his toes
For two years bombs have fallen
Days and nights follow each other screaming
For many mothers who look at their sons with love.

Here in the land America
While those years shrieked in Europe
In my small tidy house
I have borne my son joyously
And he has learned to run laughing through sunbeams.

Nothing can take from him now
That his eyes looked first upon laughter
That he walked first in singing light
That his lips spoke their first sound in love
Though the bombs may yet seek him in hate.