It's 2 a.m. her bags are packed,
their silhouette makes it real.
She lays in his arms, snug and warm,
loving how he makes her feel.

She moves in, just a bit closer,
in his sleep he kisses her head.
On the nightstand is the eight by ten,
taken on the day they were wed.

He in his uniform, her in white,
she takes a quick glance at the clock.
The baby cries, she slips away,
she cradles him and rocks.

Hush little baby, sounds through the dark,
Mama will be back real soon.
She hugs him tightly, one last time,
while staring at the fading moon.

She wakes beneath the shower's flow,
then brushes her teeth and hair,
Dresses in her camo and boots,
for the next twelve months she'll wear.

From wife and Mother a soldier did surface,
out of the nursery to the Iraqi sands.
Instead of bottles and baby food jars,
a rifle will fill her hands.

The air is quiet while Grandma takes over,
the three year old has a sleepy cry.
Holding tight to her lover's hand,
she hates the word, goodbye.

He watches her until she fades from sight,
then whispers a loving prayer,
Please Dear God watch over her,
then remind her quite often, we care.

She stands just beyond his sights,
and whispers a loving prayer,
Please Dear God remind them often,
I do this because, I care.