O, Mother! Poem by Evolet Powell

O mother, do not fret
of this mound pound of iron
in which your proud son in green
shall depart
which you will see from platform protection
as you clutch at your heart

O mother, do not tremble, for
a man's duty calls
beyond these soot stinged train tracks
and smog sweet grey grass.
Simply take in the greatness
of this tank, fiery chariot!

O mother, and do not forget
this gentleman will return
a warrior; king of his own name
in stone, honored atop a hill of the slain
this ride shall take me
to absolute excellence, rememberance, hereafter.

I part now, mother!

O mother, aren't you pleased?
to know I went away a man,
joined Ein Volk band
to serve your land?
So why is it you still wail:
'My boy—my boy—my boy! '

O mother, wait, do not weep, for
steam must eventually
leave from the stack
and see blue skies, though
tinted with smoking aeroplanes, metal,
decending like fallen angels caught ablazed...

O, wait now, do you think this silver would get me to heaven, mother? !