In a cone of light
The four-year-old
Son of my son
Seriously stands
And tells of his day.

    How did my mother bear it?
    To wait for the terrible bell,
    Bearing the final news-
    No, not this time. Still wait.
    And live another day.

I fold him tightly to me.
No war takes him away.
But what if someday,
How to live it out?
    I understand living with the loss,
    No longer living, enduring only.
    I understand the soldier's days
    Of terror and of boredom.
But oh, the waiting time,
How is it done?

Lari Smith