Mumsie and Dad are raven dark <br /> And I am lily blonde. <br />''Tis strange,' I once heard nurse remark, <br /> 'You do not correspond.' <br />And yet they claim me as their own, <br /> Born of their flesh and bone. <br /> <br />To doubt their parenthood I dread, <br /> But now to girlhood grown, <br />The thought is haunting in my head <br /> That I am not their own: <br />If so, my radiant bloom of youth <br /> Would wither in the truth. <br /> <br />'Twould give me anguish deep to know <br /> A fondling babe was I; <br />And that a maid in wedless woe <br /> Left me to live or die: <br />I'd rather Mother lied and lied <br /> To save my pride. <br /> <br />I love them both and they love me; <br /> I am their all, they say. <br />Yet though the sweetest home have we, <br /> To know I'm theirs I pray. <br />If not, please dear ones, never tell . . . <br /> The truth would be of hell.<br /><br />Robert William Service<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/poor-kid/
