by Marla Hansen

Created on: October 01, 2009

The house, yellow and white, pride of the street,

Surrounded by flowers until death it would meet.

Young mother inside, daily baking her pies,

Little son by her side playing villain and spies.

Years later, war looming, calling her son

To a place never heard of, til somebody won.

Soldiers arriving with letter in hand,

Dear mother, your dreams slip into the sand.

Slowly, so slowly, the house sags and crumbles

Young mother no longer, the old woman stumbles.

House yellowed and withered with time and with rain,

Old woman lies down and dies from the pain.

All Hallow's Eve, the children they scamper

Up the stone path to the candy filled hamper

That sits on the front porch of the pride of the street

Surrounded by flowers, not knowing death they will meet.

Waiting to greet them, with freshly baked pies

Young mother and soldier, for love never dies.

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