My boy's come back; he's here at last; <br />He came home on a special train. <br />My longing and my ache are past, <br />My only son is back again. <br />He's home with music, flags and flowers; <br />With peace and joy my heart's abrim; <br />He got here in the morning hours <br />With half the town to welcome him. <br /> <br />To hush my grief, night after night, <br />How I have digged my pillow deep, <br />And it would be the morning light <br />Before I sobbed myself to sleep. <br />And how I used to stare and stare <br />Across the harbour's yeasty foam, <br />Thinking he's fighting far out there . . . <br />But now with bells my boy's come home. <br /> <br />There's Mrs. Burke, she has her Ted, <br />But less the sight of his two eyes; <br />And Mrs. Smith - you know her Fred - <br />They took his legs off at the thighs. <br />How can these women happy be, <br />For all their bravery of talk, <br />One with a son who cannot see, <br />One with a boy who'll never walk. <br /> <br />I should be happier than they; <br />My lad came back without a scar, <br />And all the folks are proud they say, <br />To greet their hero of the war. <br />So in the gentle eventide <br />I'll give God thanks my Bert's come home. . . . <br />As peacefully I sit beside <br />His tiny mound of new-turned loam.<br /><br />Robert William Service<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-home-coming/
