The Home Front

When ocean winds did last my way blow
I stood on the harbor waving farewell,
hand to mouth, praying tears would not flow
ignoring other's whispers of portents fell.
Ship gone, I hastened away so as not to dwell
on the imagined sounds of ball and shot.
You'd come back safe, I heard me tell.
Upon my heart, I know, love, not

if or when wounds you would know
but, here safe I sit, while you, in hell,
shoot your musket, brave forward, gear in tow.
While you are away, I feel I must compel
my wishes of good to find you safe and well,
as you slumber (safe) upon your travel cot.
I wonder, when the corn is grown, if you'll be home for it to sell
upon my heart I know, love, not.

Your letters stopped...but it does not follow
that you've been hit by shrapnel
only that you've had to dig in--"safe" in your burrow.
These gloomy thoughts I need to dispel,
thinking of you over there with Cromwell.
This worrying is tying my stomach into knots
dreading should I hear the church steeple knell.
Upon my heart, I hope, love, not.

The fleet is coming home! Impossible this excitement quell
was that you on the rail, a glimpse caught?
What mysteries upon thee befell,
upon my soul, love, I know not.