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Poetry || SubmissionsThe Mother's Songby Miriam Schneid-OfseyerI am the mother, from me he springs, The source of joy and sufferings. I, the mother, guard his way From his birth till my last day. I am the mother. With heart and blood I make him a man that loves and builds, Creates and fashions and sees beyond. I am the mother. He is my son. How can I keep my peace always While cries of horror tear my heart, When he is torn from me to war And homeward he will come no more? An end to silence and to tears. I'll save him while my life endures. I'll call aloud to every nation, to every mother of every man: Lift up your hand. Man's blood is one. Do not despair: We'll save him yet. A living wall of all men's mothers, Brown and white and black, A towering wall which does not lack The yellow and the red. Over every clash ascends What is in common and transcends: Millions differing in all yet share the same great happiness, To bear a son. To be the mother, And call a living son By name. And millions will rise, millions of hands, and they will be Uplifted Unto the sky In an oath: Our sons to slaughter we will not give. Earth be our witness And heavens above. Miriam Schneid-Ofseyer can be contacted through MOfse@aol.com Today's Situation
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