by james pope
When I was small and my mother would leave,
Tears filled my eyes and all my goodbyes.
Her return was my only reprieve
To touch my cheek and dry my eyes.
As I grew older and was sent to war,
Tears wren't mine though I ached with longing.
A timed passed and we fought no more,
Coming home though not belonging.
Now come the days of final partings,
Near the edge of all we know.
Is it the last tear that stings,
That moment with none to follow?
When it's the last goodbye who can know?
My greatest sadness of all would be your last hello.