The mother sings a lullaby
to her child, the soft realisation it is
to her.
Sitting by the cradle’s side,
she silently condemns
the war looming large
on the open heath,
Assuring her of the
futility of
the insurance.
The hollow eyes
of the agent
sitting in the drawing room,
drawing the bond,
is a vicious pause
in her lifetime.
Scratching,
Crying,
Cogitating,
“May I take a poetic adieu?”
were her words.
