O father, I regret
The beardlessness of youth,
My wooden sword not yet
Exchanged for arms in truth.
For foreign shores I yearn,
But I must wait my turn.
Go in my stead!
My love, gone o’er the sea,
How anxiously I pace,
For each day I can see
Our child who bears your face.
On foreign shores of strife
I worry for your life.
With God I’ve pled!
My son, I’ve grown so old
That I must stay abed;
My stories have been told
And youthful days are fled.
Those foreign shores I’ve known
Have now become your own.
Like you I bled!
This was written in 2013 on the occasion of Veteran’s Day. The style is modeled on poems by Thomas Wyatt (e.g. “Blame Not My Lute“).