When you come home I'll not be round <br /> To welcome you. <br />They'll take you to a grassy mound <br /> So neat and new; <br />Where I'll be sleeping--O so sound! <br /> The ages through. <br /> <br />I'll not be round to broom the hearth, <br /> To feed the chicks; <br />And in the wee room of your birth <br /> Your bed to fix; <br />Rose room that knew your baby mirth <br /> Your tiny tricks. <br /> <br />I'll not be round . . . The garden still <br /> With bees will hum; <br />To cheerful you the throstle's bill <br /> Will not be dumb; <br />The rambler rose will overspill <br /> When you will come. <br /> <br />Bird, bee and bloom, they'll greet you all <br /> With scented sound; <br />Yet though the joy of your footfall <br /> Will thrill the ground <br />Your mother with her old grey shawl-- <br /> Will not be round.<br /><br />Robert William Service<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sailor-son/
