The battle’s done; the war is won; the spoils the victor takes.
The mother stares at lists of men to see if one is there
With gold star stuck behind his name; yet hope within her wakes
That once again she’ll kiss the son who gave her so much care.
In vain she looks; his name’s not there. She turns to see with joy
The doughboys leaping off the train; she hopes to see him there,
Just one of all those thousands, she could call her own dear boy.
She sees her neighbors son, radiant, with joyous glare
Take up his mother in his arms and hold her there so long.
If only her boy would step out, so she that bliss could share.
She sees the sweethearts greet their boys ’mid shouts and gleeful song:
She sees a friend here meet a friend, and enemies now dare
To shake their hands. But her boy was not among them; he stepped
Not off that train, now puffing out its clouds of smoke and steam
As it rolls out of the station. “Twas some misnomer crept
Into her heart—she ran after that train and wished to scream
To make it stop. A doughboy stopped her there, it was his pal.
He told her how her boy had fought; he answered someones call,
And in that answering heroically gave life for life
On that battlefield where blood runs wild in human strife.
The mother listened tearlessly, to all this, in a haze;
Then gave vent to feelings pent as when a heart decays.
She goes to church now everytime she hears the peal of bell
To pray for her dear boy. Sherman was right that war is hell.