The Bereaved Mother

Her bosom is a dreary desert

Her eyes dry river-bed

She walked the ragged stony path

Patriotism luring her away

Then her nest was robbed of her fledglings

At the altar of war

Now she has a sky full of blessing

And swears by non-violence

The whole world is her home

She breathes in every race

                 
Posted for Susie's prompt @ Real Toads
&
Shared with Poetry Pantry @ Poets United