Cries of the Widow

In the church, the widow's cry resounds,
Echoing through the homes and to the grounds.

Some cries are prayers, pleading for her son's embrace,
Yearning for the day he'll return in safety and grace.
To taste once more his mother's loving meals,
And savor the warmth only her heart reveals.

But some cries are mournful, grieving the loss,
Of a son who stood firm, despite the cost.
Defending his land and his family's name,
In a world ravaged by conflict and pain.

And yet, among these tears, hope does arise,
That one day the darkness will dissipate and skies will clear.
Her son, with triumphant smile in tow,
Lays down arms, donning a formal coat, to go

Where the bell of devotion calls him forth,
To sing praises to God, for the war's no more.
The battles cease, the victory's been won,
And freedom's sweet melody has finally begun.

Let heaven hear her plea, her anguished woe,
For widows' sorrow holds a fierce, raw flame,
Her tears, like flowers, shall spring forth with hope,
Blooming resilience, healing's gentle scope.