It was the child’s sixth birthday
The party had begun, and all was gay
His friends had come, and they were at play
And how they cheered when mother brought in the tray!
But the birthday boy was a bit forlorn,
Of ecstasy his face was somehow shorn
He asked, “Mother, has father telephoned yet?”
The answer being negative, he began to fret.
His father was on a battlefront, miles away,
With no chance to wish him a happy birthday.
His focus was to decimate the enemy facing him.
Bullets were flying, the setting was grim.
His thoughts were at home, revolving around his son,
Harking back good times together, full of fun.
The sight of corpses strewn all around, made him shudder,
Wishing to be away, he had to overcome with mere vigor.
“Has father called, my mother dear?”
Rarely do they realize how poor soldiers suffer
Cannons roared, men fired at one another,
Impatiently he asked, “When will father call, oh mother?”
And then the telephone indeed did ring;
The child was elated bubbling with zing!
The call was indeed from the battle ground—
She picked up the phone and swooned without a sound!!
