Judy Small
(Verse 1 also used a chorus between other verses)
The first time it was fathers, the last time it was sons,
And in between your husbands marched awasy with guns and drums,
And you never thought to question, you just went on with your lives:
'Cause all they'd taught you who to be was mothers, daughters, wives.
You can only just remember, the tears your mothers shed,
As the sat and read their papers through the lists and lists of dead,
And the gold frames held the photographs that mothers kissed each night,
And the doorframes held the shocked and silent strangers from the fight.
It was 21 years later with children of your own.
The trumpet sounded once again and the soldier boys were gone.
And you drove their trucks and made their guns and tended to their wounds,
And at night you kissed the photographs and prayed for safe returns.
And after it was over, you had to learn again
To be just wives and mothers when you'd done the work of men.
So you worked to help the needy and you never trod on toes,
And the photos on the pianos struck a happy family pose.
Then your daughters grew to women and your little boys to men,
And you prayed that you were dreaming when the call-up came again,
But you proudly smiled and held your tears as they bravely waved goodbye,
And the photos on the mantlepieces always made you cry.
And now you're getting older and in time the photos fade,
And in widowhood you sit back and reflect on the parade
Of the passing of your memories as your daughters change their lives,
Seeing ore to our existence than just mothers, daughters, wives.