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Mom and Dad, The War is Done

Dear Mom and Dad, the war is done. My task is through.
And Mom, there's something I must ask of you.

I have a friend, O such a friend.
He has no home you see.
And see, Mom, I'd really like
to bring him home with me.

Dear Son, we don't mind
if someone comes home with you.
I'm sure he could stay
perhaps a week or two.

Dear Mom and Dad, there's something you must
know, now please don't be alarmed:
My friend in battle was recently shot, and now he
has no arm.

Dear Son, don't be afraid
to bring him home with you;
perhaps he could stay
a day or two.

Dear Mom and Dad, but Mom, he's not just a
friend, he's like a brother too;
that's why I want him home with us, and like a son
to you.

Before you give your answer, Mom, I really don't
want to beg,
but my friend in battle was recently wounded and
also lost his leg.

Dear Son, it hurts so much to say, the answer
must be no:
for Dad and I have no time
for a boy who is crippled so.

So months went by and a letter came, it said their
son had died:
when they read the cause of death, the shock was

Days later when the casket came.
Draped in America's flag,
they saw their son lying there,
—without an arm—without a leg.

This story was contributed: Ray Walker, RD 532