The Rosary beads were worn,
Dulled by brooding prayer,
The thin brass links also
Looking like they would give.

Mother seemed to have no more to
Give in prayer or hope, hope,
That her son would come home,
And come home he did,
But wounded.

No sign of that, mind,
But something in his eyes betrayed,
Told Mum he was not the son she had borne
To the world
When the second great war ended
Somewhere.

His father, her love,
Had died in a flash,
His heart gave out in peace,
But then her heart
Near broke
When a son was called to war.

He did come home,
But her heart, his heart,
Her mind, his mind.
Would never, ever
Hear a bell toll sweetly again.