All day he lay upon the sand <br />When summer sun was bright, <br />And let the grains sift through his hand <br />With infantile delight; <br />Just like a child, so soft and fair, <br />Though he was twenty-five - <br />An innocent, my mother -care <br />Had kept so long alive. <br /> <br />Oh it is hard to bear a cross <br />For five-and-twenty years; <br />A daft son and a husband's loss <br />Are woes out-weighing tears. <br />Yet bright and beautiful was he, <br />Though barely could he walk; <br />And when he signaled out to sea <br />His talk was baby talk. <br /> <br />The man I loved was drowned out there <br />When we were ten weeks wed. <br />'Tis bitter hard a boy to bear <br />That's fathered by the dead. <br />And now I give my life to him <br />Because he needs me so; <br />And as I look my sight is dim <br />With pity, love and woe. . . . <br /> <br />Then suddenly I see him rise, <br />Tall, stalwart and serene . . . <br />Lo! There he stands before my eyes, <br />The man he might have been. <br /> <br />"Dear Mother mine," I hear him say, <br />"The curse that bound me fast, <br />Some miracle has swept away, <br />And all you pain is past. <br />Now I am strong and sane and free, <br />And you shall have your due; <br />For as you loved and cherished me, <br />I'll love and cherish you." <br /> <br />His kisses sooth away my pain, <br />His clasp is paradise . . . <br />Then - then I look at him again <br />With terror in my eyes: <br /> <br />For down he sinks upon the sand, <br />And heavy droops his head; <br />The golden grains drift through his hand . . . <br />I know - my boy is dead.<br /><br />Robert William Service<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/man-child/
