Father is quite the greatest poet <br /> That ever lived anywhere. <br />You say you’re going to write great music— <br /> I chose that first: it’s unfair. <br />Besides, now I can’t be the greatest painter and <br /> do Christ and angels, or lovely pears <br /> and apples and grapes on a green dish, <br /> or storms at sea, or anything lovely, <br />Because that’s been taken by Claire. <br /> <br />It’s stupid to be an engine-driver, <br /> And soldiers are horrible men. <br />I won’t be a tailor, I won’t be a sailor, <br /> And gardener’s taken by Ben. <br />It’s unfair if you say that you’ll write great <br /> music, you horrid, you unkind (I sim- <br /> ply loathe you, though you are my <br /> sister), you beast, cad, coward, cheat, <br /> bully, liar! <br />Well? Say what’s left for me then! <br /> <br />But we won’t go to your ugly music. <br /> (Listen!) Ben will garden and dig, <br />And Claire will finish her wondrous pictures <br /> All flaming and splendid and big. <br />And I’ll be a perfectly marvellous carpenter, <br /> and I’ll make cupboards and benches <br /> and tables and ... and baths, and <br /> nice wooden boxes for studs and <br /> money, <br />And you’ll be jealous, you pig!<br /><br />Robert Graves<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/careers/
