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by Donna F. Miller
The mother stood up in the front of our club
And asked each for a prayer and a thought.
Her son was returning to war in a week
She suffered the pain fear wrought.
What could we say but yes, of course.
Her brave, young son was going.
The rest of the day I thought of how
He touched us without his knowing.
As I sat in an office waiting my turn
An acquaintance came in through the door.
She looked stressed by the crowd
But there certainly had to be more.
I soon heard the reason her look was so sad.
Her son had been killed in Iraq.
He had left with hope and peace in his heart
And now he would never be back.
I thought of both mothers I'd seen that day
And the service of each of their sons.
For all the mothers in our land I prayed
Bring home in haste their loved ones.
We've built memorials with mind and hand 
For those we've already lost. 
We thank them for the gift of freedom.
We'll never forget the cost.


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