My brother Tim has children ten, <br /> While I have none. <br />Maybe that's why he's toiling when <br /> To ease I've won. <br />But though I would some of his brood <br /> Give hearth and care, <br />I know that not a one he would <br /> Have heart to spare. <br /> <br />'Tis children that have kept him poor; <br /> He's clad them neat. <br />They've never wanted, I am sure, <br /> For bite to eat. <br />And though their future may be dim, <br /> They laugh a lot. <br />Am I tearful for Brother Tim? <br /> Oh no, I'm not. <br /> <br />I know he goes to work each day <br /> With flagging feet. <br />'Tis hard, even with decent pay, <br /> To make ends meet. <br />But when my sterile home I see, <br /> So smugly prim, <br />Although my banker bows to me, <br /> I envy Tim.<br /><br />Robert William Service<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/tim/
