World War I
The band it was ‘a playing an uplifting martial beat,
He maybe had a sweetheart, young and soft and sweet.
His mother she stood bravely, holding back her tears,
Surely he would be OK, in spite of all her fears.
Hissing and ‘a huffing, the train blew off some steam,
Rollin’ to the platform, like in some lonesome dream.
The handshakes and the hugs, “Ye’r gonna’ do us proud!”,
They climb into the cars, to the wavin’ of the crowd.
For two long years they wait for letters in the Post,
Makin’ sure he hasn’t given up the ghost.
The hometown paper tells of a battle far away,
Though it was ferocious, the good have won the day.
Anxious weeks they roll by, no casualty report,
And everyone is hopin’ that the list is really short.
Finally there’s a letter, the Commander has regret,
The noble lad is missin’, his Mama is upset.
The battle was a seesaw, the chaos did abound,
Though they looked and looked, he was never found.
All he left were memories, that jaunty little grin,
A lad who did his chores, the dimple on his chin.
They never know he lies in Site Number One,
Still, they all are grateful for all that he’s done.
LDT May 31, ’21
Probably Civil War
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Outlaws, Outrages and Outright Lies 
Apt for the day, Larry. Made me realize how tough it was for folks then. Now, more often, we get news quickly and don’t have all that angst that was really common such a short time ago. Nice twist in the poem, too. They’ll never know.
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