My Son's Funeral Poem by J.B. LeBuert

You picketed at my son’s funeral today.
My wife had to restrain me, and hold me at bay.
Sure, you got your much wanted publicity.
It came with my disgust, of your duplicity.

You must know that you haven’t a clue,
What the Lord desires, or will do,
When She judges you, on that fateful day.
You may start crying, and begin to pray.

It may be too late by then, my brothers.
Guess what we’ll say about you and the others,
Who had the temerity to come and seek,
Pain for my wife and I, while we were weak.

I might forgive the damage you’ve done.
So will the Lord, from this, I can’t run.
You better think twice before you commit,
This sin against mothers, I must submit.

This is the last thing I want to say to you.
Please leave us alone and let us go through,
Our pain, without the abuse that you send.
My patience with you, is about to end.

He’s buried now, and I’m free to pursue
What ever I deem necessary, to do to you.
Please don’t take this as an empty threat.
Take it as advice, from another war vet.