My Warrior Son

My Warrior’s Path 

Sherrill Ann Moody


Picture with me a garden, my son

With rows of the strongest trees

Paths that wind and tell a tale

Of quiet bended Knees


Picture with me your life ahead

The grandeur of love and strength

Where soldiers bow and love holds strong

And children play at length


Picture with me the battle designed

With years of confusion and pain

Our quiet counsels, your faith in God

Your sun filled heart would be maimed


Picture with me the pacing of floors

The dizzying bouts of chaos

The attempts to live the attempts to numb

Any connection with you was lost


Picture with me our pleading for you

For the boy of our hearts’ return

The light once lifting others’ hearts

Dying in a hellish burn.


Picture with me that fateful day

Holidays in full swing

Your quiet exit, a space left bare

Stark, blank, sorrow it would bring


Picture our sacred moments that day

When our warrior son was done

When your fateful challenge would find it’s end

Your sore battle ever be won


Picture with me your garden, my son

With rows of majestic trees

The paths you know and traveled so well

What more would I ask of these?

Published by Sherrill Moody

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