He left her alone with a baby to feed,
She didn't know which way to turn.
He was too young to be tied to a kid,
So he packed up his bags and he ran.
Stung by his shrapnel, she cried for a while,
How could he do this to her?
Trapped by the eyes of an innocent child,
She wandered through life in a blur.
The years went past and the child matured,
Into a handsome young man,
He looked like the father who'd never nurtured...
Led by an empty hand.
He looked on his mother with pleading eyes,
As they watched her wither away,
But it comes to us all; the need to die.
Just like a child's need to play!
He broke the back of his piggybank,
To put out an ad on the page,
'God rest the soul of a mother, with thanks,
From a son she'd put center stage!'
She'd given all that a mother could give,
And for that he could find no fault,
If only she'd told him who his father is,
He'd maybe make sense of it all.
The undertaker who took her away,
Looked all too familiar to him,
Almost like looking on a mirror image,
He wondered if his name was Sam?
From father to son, the look was forlorn,
As they lowered her into the grave,
They left it at that, forever unknown,
And went their separate ways!
Empty HandA sad tale.
By Harry Boslem