Brief Furlough
By LeRoy Burke Meagher
My son came home from war the other day
To walk familiar rooms
And make secure the items time had dimmed
And war made mute. He had too much to say
Of trifling things to hide from me his hours
Of waiting for the news
I thought too insignificant to write:
Who did the chores while he was gone, what flowers
I grew, what books I read that he might like,
Did next door lilacs spill
Across the fence again this spring for ours.
My son returned last night, with shell-scarred face
And eyes, which knew too much
Of death, brimmed full of ordinary things
I held, until he came, too commonplace.
(1945)
This is good!
D’you know, Mark, when I chose this one to post today, I thought to myself, “This is one that Mark will appreciate.” Really.
Beautiful and poignant.
Thanks, Ardis! I presume this was in the Improvement Era.
Sorry, I’m late to the party but… This poem is great and is timely for every generation that experienced wars. Interesting view point from the mother verses, as in most poem, the soldier. Thanks