Each morning as I catch my bus, <br />A-fearing I'll be late, <br />I think: there are in all of us <br />Two folks quite separate; <br />As one I greet the office staff <br />With grim, official mien; <br />The other's when I belly-laugh, <br />And Home Sweet Home's the scene. <br /> <br />I've half a hundred men to boss, <br />And take my job to heart; <br />You'll never find me at a loss, <br />So well I play my part. <br />My voice is hard, my eye is cold, <br />My mouth is grimly set; <br />They all consider me, I'm told, <br />A "bloody martinet." <br /> <br />But when I reach my home at night <br />I'm happy as a boy; <br />My kiddies kiss me with delight, <br />And dance a jig of joy. <br />I slip into my oldest cloths, <br />My lines of care uncrease; <br />I mow the lawn, unhook the hose, <br />And glow with garden peace. <br /> <br />It's then I wonder which I am, <br />the boss with hard-boiled eye, <br />Or just the gay don't care-a-damn <br />Go-lucky garden guy? <br />Am I the starchy front who rants <br />As round his weight he throws, <br />or just old Pop with patchy pants, <br />Who sings and sniffs a rose?<br /><br />Robert William Service<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/schizophrenic/
