It's not a fight with a fire and gun
by Sgt. Wm. M. Golden, Jan. 6, 1945
Mom's battle is the toughest one,
Cause it's the kind that's never won.
It's not a fight with fire and gun;
It's all day wondering, "Where's my son"?
It's not a war. It's a fight within.
It's where I'm at, and where I've 'bin?
It's what I eat' am I getting thin?
Am I steering clear of "hell and sin"
Do I pray to God to see me through
My every day, like I used to do?
Am I still the carefree boy she knew?
It's been so long...a year, or two.
It's remembering, when I was small,
How 'round the house I used to crawl:
And the day that I began to walk,
And later when I learned to talk.
The things I said; the things I did
When I was nothing but a kid
It's all these things that haunt Mom's mind,
It's a battle of a different kind.
A day ne'er starts, a day ne'er ends,
Without a prayer that dear Mom sends
To our Heavenly Father up above,
That He'll watch o'er her fondest love.
She has no defense against attack,--
Just prays to God to send me back
She fights her battle for her son
With prayer her weapon...not a gun.
But I guess that's what a Mom is for,--
To guide the son she proudly bore,
Whether he's home or off to war
A guy can't ask his God for more!