Going Home

Poem from mother to son who died at his own hands

GOING HOME


My son, my son, my only son,
How can I censure thee?
From birth until this very hour
You are a part of me.

A mother loves without restraint
Despite the faults of men
And takes the guilt upon herself
A little, now and then.

Your troubles make my poor heart break.
My love will always stay
And God, who knows and shares our grief,
Weeps for those who stray.

God sent his son to show the way
With love much greater than our own,
And waits for us with open arms
To welcome all his children home.