War calls

Last summer they beckoned his call,
Last summer when we were all left forlorn,
Last summer when dad went to war,

No more laughter, no more joy,
The only optimist was little Ben boy,

He thought dad would return, to his lonely bed,
Later to find out never instead,

We will never forget the smell of his hair,
The smell of his mouthwash,
Or the taste of his care

But little Ben boy thinks in his head,
He will have to return,
He can’t be dead!

Last summer when he left our door,
Last summer when dad went to war.

Written by Rebecca Marshall