I HAVE two sons, wife— <br /> Two, and yet the same; <br /> One his wild way runs, wife, <br /> Bringing us to shame. <br />The one is bearded, sunburnt, grim, and fights across the sea, <br />The other is a little child who sits upon your knee. <br /> <br /> One is fierce and cold, wife, <br /> As the wayward deep; <br /> Him no arms could hold, wife, <br /> Him no breast could keep. <br />He has tried our hearts for many a year, not broken them; for he <br />Is still the sinless little one that sits upon your knee. <br /> <br /> One may fall in fight, wife— <br /> Is he not our son? <br /> Pray with all your might, wife, <br /> For the wayward one; <br />Pray for the dark, rough soldier, who fights across the sea, <br />Because you love the little shade who smiles upon your knee. <br /> <br /> One across the foam, wife, <br /> As I speak may fall; <br /> But this one at home, wife, <br /> Cannot die at all. <br />They both are only one; and how thankful should we be, <br />We cannot lose the darling son who sits upon your knee!<br /><br />William Cosmo Monkhouse<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/two-sons/
