The Airman.

What do I care that he died in honour,
Breasting the clouds, and facing the sun… .
It is nothing to me that you call him a hero,
Nothing to me when the long day is done.
I am his mother; I bore his body.
I gave him strength, and I gave him sight.
This was my son, the man you honour, Cleaving the heavens on wings of light,
Riding alone, and lapping the sunrise, Circling the earth as the dark midnight flies.
This was my son, I mourn him for ever.
Leave me alone to weep where he lies.
What do I care that a king brings laurel
Bound in a wreath to lay by his head… .
I am his mother, I come empty-handed.
Leave me alone to grieve for my dead.

—Joyce West.

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