Thank God For My Son

You watched your son,

Go of to war,

in ’68’,

And words like,

Vietnam, Saigon,

And the Viet-Kong,

Became dinner time,



You found yourself jumping,

Everytume you received a call,

On that old rotary phone,

You found yourself jumping.

Every prayer you prayed,

Revolved around that little boy,

Whose diapers,

You not so long ago changed,

And finally the day came,

Your little boy was home from war,

No longer a little boy,

But a man,

With memories of war,

but still you find yourself,


Thank God For,

Bringing my son home.

Copyright Michelle R Kidwell


All Rights Reserved


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