Because I was a woman lone <br /> And had of friends so few, <br />I made two little ones my own, <br /> Whose parents no one knew; <br />Unwanted foundlings of the night, <br /> Left at the convent door, <br />Whose tiny hands in piteous plight <br /> Seemed to implore. <br /> <br />By Deed to them I gave my name, <br /> And never will they know <br />That from the evil slums they came, <br /> Two waifs of want and woe; <br />I fostered them with love and care <br /> As if they were my own: <br />Now John, my son, is tall and fair, <br /> And dark is Joan. <br /> <br />My boy's a member of the Bar, <br /> My girl a nurse serene; <br />Yet when I think of what they are <br /> And what they might have been, <br />With shuddering I glimpse a hell <br /> Of black and bitter fruit . . . <br />Where John might be a criminal, <br /> And Joan--a prostitute.<br /><br />Robert William Service<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/adoption/
