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Poem by Robert William Service


Sailor Son


When you come home I'll not be round
To welcome you.
They'll take you to a grassy mound
So neat and new;
Where I'll be sleeping--O so sound!
The ages through.

I'll not be round to broom the hearth,
To feed the chicks;
And in the wee room of your birth
Your bed to fix;
Rose room that knew your baby mirth
Your tiny tricks.

I'll not be round... The garden still
With bees will hum;
To cheerful you the throstle's bill
Will not be dumb;
The rambler rose will overspill
When you will come.

Bird, bee and bloom, they'll greet you all
With scented sound;
Yet though the joy of your footfall
Will thrill the ground
Your mother with her old grey shawl--
Will not be round.



Robert William Service


Robert William Service's other poems:
  1. Pullman Porter
  2. The Three Voices
  3. Mammy
  4. Young Mother
  5. The Missal Makers


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