Excuses by X (Poet) Lyrics

I have a widow'd mother, to whom I cleave
With a devouring passion. My sole care
And joy she is. "What money I can spare"
Is hers--when she can get it. If I leave
Upon your urgent errand she will grieve
(Poor soul), and find no comfort anywhere--
Beauty draws some men my a single hair;
But me--I'm all for mother, please believe.
A boy's best friend's his mother without a doubt
And a most excellent mother have I got:
'Tis true, the other day, she said, "You go--
I'll struggle through!" I murmured, "Certainly not!"--
Sharp like, and firm. . . Dear heart, she'll never know
How much I've loved her--since the war broke out!