A Soldier's Farewell
Dear Mom
Mort Pour LA France

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One lovely night in summer
Before he went away,
A soldier took his sweetheart's hand
and this to her did say,
"On the inside of my tunic,
placed right next to my heart."
"Is a picture of my darling,
my one and own sweetheart."

"I'll carry your picture next my heart
and always think of you."
"No matter where I go love,
no matter what I'll do."
In the thickness of the battle
In sickness or in pain;
"I'll carry your picture next my heart
until we meet again."

As tears rolled down her snow white face,
She to her soldier said.
"I'll be true while you're away,
No one will take your place."
"I'll always wait for your return
so long as I have breathe."
"I'll wait for you in life, my love
I'll wait for you in death."

It was only nine months later,
His comrade to her came.
Told her that her soldier boy,
Will not be home again.
In the last great charge
Your true love went forward with the rest,
Until badly wounded he fell
With a bullet in his breast.

I knelt beside your hero
As his life's blood ebbed away,
Listened to all he had to tell
Heard all he had to say.
In a pocket in his tunic
So neatly tucked inside,
Was a picture of the girl he loved
Who was to be his bride.

Your name was on that picture
And also your address,
In it a hole the bullet made
That pierced his noble breast.
He opened wide his dying eyes
Looked up at me and said.
"Don't touch that picture , comrade please
I want it when I'm dead."

I want that picture with me
And when you see my love,
Tell her I will meet her
In Heaven up above.
Where I will need no uniform
No bayonet or no gun.
It is there I'll meet my own true love
My joy and only one.

As tears rolled down her show white cheeks
She to his comrade said.
"How can I go on living now,
That my true love is dead?"
"I never will forget the night
The last I saw my love,
Sleep on my darling soldier boy
I'll meet you up above."

Oh why do men invent such things
As implements of war?
To kill our love ones,
Break our hearts
Oh, God what is it for?
Why do so many have to go
Why don't they all return?
We must leave the answer to our God,
It is for us to learn!


The war is over now
My task is finally through,
But Mom there is something
I must ask of you.

I have a friend, oh what a friend
He has no home you see,
So Mom I would like
To bring him home with me.

If someone comes home with you,
I'm sure that he could stay
For a day or two.

Please Mom, I have to tell you something
Please don't be alarmed,
My friend, you see in battle
Happen to lose one arm.

My son, don't be afraid
To bring him home with you,
He could stay and visit
For even a week or two.

But Mom, he's not just a friend
He's a brother too,
That's why I want him to live with us
And be a son to you.

But...before you give me answer
There's something I must say,
My friend fought in a battle
In which he lost a leg.

My son, it hurts me to say this
But my answer must be no,
Your father and I would have no time
For one who is crippled so.

Sometime later a letter came
Saying their son was dead,
And when they read the cause of death
"Suicide" it said.

Sometime later when the casket came
Wrapped with the country flag,
They saw their son lying there
With out an arm or leg.


From The BEF Times, Thursday, November 1st, 1917.

Many the graves that lie behind the lines,
Scattered like shells upon a blood-stained strand,
Crosses and mounds, that eloquently stand
To mark a spot, that forms some hero's shrine.
And one, that nestles near a shattered pine,
Beside a war-wrecked wall, in barren land,
Is tended, daily, by a woman's hand,
Moistened by tears, that in her bright eyes shine.

But proud she was, and proud she still can be,
Lover and patriot, both, she proudly reads
His epitaph. It dries her tears to know,
That he has purchased immortality:-
"Mort pour la France." He filled his Country's needs,
And though he rests, for France he'd have it so.

By: Unknown Poet