Mother, your son’s name will no longer disgrace the headlines. You will not hear him cursed on the radio. Nor in the black shadow of the fire coast Will you be able to mark his headstone with your candle.
Do not let your soul turn into tears. Do not seek him out in the market crowds. He now carries a sword of fire, And marches, a soldier of the Lord.
It is a sin to weep, it is a sin to long For him to knock on your door in the late hours of night. But think, when you light a candle in mass, You now have a private intercessor for your prayers.