From The Birmingham Age Herald, May 1, 1914. By Margaret E. Sangster, Jr.
A crash, a flash, a momentary triumph,
The blaze of the sun from out a sky of blue;
And someone lies, a heap of huddled garments,
With heart now still that once sang brave and true.
A blur of smoke against the mountains rugged,
A buzzard winging slowly through the sky,
And miles away a little mother—waiting—
And praying to the gracious God on high.
A moan, a stream of life blood ebbing swiftly,
A pair of eyes that close in endless sleep;
A bullet, sharp and sudden in its coming,
That leaves a wound so horrible and deep.
A paper, printed large in glowing headlines,
That says, “He left a mother, next of kin.”
A country’s loud approval of a hero—
And one small woman sobbing through the din!
A fear, a tear, a pair of hands clasped tightly,
A mind that sees a sturdy little boy,
A tiny baby face with roguish dimples,
A sound of laughter filled with childish joy.
A nation’s hero, dying first—with glory!
A man in spirit, though a boy in years,
A soldier shot in battle, fighting bravely—
A little mother smiling through the tears!