A MOTHER IN SERBIA.
AUTUMN, 1917. Haggard and mute, stubbornly she cleaves To those rich fields, now treasure of the foe While the tired hands pile wearily the sheaves, Her mind dwells on the measure of her woe.
One brother in Bizerte, one at Focsani slain, Her love a wounded prisoner in Ehodope, Strange places, names uncouth to haunt v the brain — She broods, unconscious of one living hope.
Sombre for her the sky of arden blue, Barren the soil teeming with ripened wheat, Sullen she stands, deaf to a plaintive
coo, Blind to two black stars gleaming at her feet.
Till lo! her knees arc clasped, with gurgling whoops! She needs , must turn and gaze upon the boy;
And gazing, sofien. Suddenly she stoops And gathers to her breast her tragic o°y-
“For tliec, my hear:! the corn shall ono day grow, The trees shall bear their fruit for thee, my Gold; For thee the Serbian sun again shall glow, For thee these sacred Serbian lands I hold!”
“And those who left know well that I who stayed _ Nightly croon Serbian ballads in thine ear; The spirit of our proud race shall not fade, Nor Serbia be lost while I am here!” —ELISABETH CIIBISITTCH.
Permanent link to this item
https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/OTMAIL19190901.2.24
Bibliographic details
Otaki Mail, Volume 26, 1 September 1919, Page 4
Word Count
205A MOTHER IN SERBIA. Otaki Mail, Volume 26, 1 September 1919, Page 4
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