| The postman delivered a letter |
| And it fills her two hands full of joy |
| For she did’n’t know, what should there be inside |
| It was the last one from her darlin' boy |
| Dear mom, was the way that it started |
| Lord, I miss you so much, I didn’t know |
| But mom, I didn’t know, that I loved you so |
| But I’ll prove it when this war is won |
| But I’m writing this letter down in the trench, ma |
| And don’t you scold if the writin’s, if the writin’s not so neat |
| Don’t scold as you did when I was kid |
| When I come home with mud on my feet |
| Well, the old mother’s han started trembling |
| They trembled with shame that’s not known |
| And the tears, then they came but they came on a shame |
| For the letter was signed with no name |
| That night as she knelt by her bedside |
| She prayed to the God up above |
| She said: «God, don’t you see what my boy meant to me |
| But dear God, keep America free» |