When you fear the barber’s mirror when you go to get a crop, <br />Or in sorrow every morning comb your hair across the top: <br />When you titivate and do the little things you never used— <br />It is close upon the season when your sins come home to roost. <br /> <br />Many were the sins of others and you never were to blame, <br />Some were sins you shared in common—you must suffer all the same; <br />Some were sins of wasted hours with the wine cup or a mate, <br />But you cannot share the burden—and they come in duplicate. <br /> <br />Oh! you’ll find the fowls are heavy and their claws are sharp and deep— <br />They will bow your head in working, they will jerk you from your sleep, <br />And so many hands are eager just to give your back a boost <br />On the road to wreck and ruin when your sins come home to roost. <br /> <br />But you don’t let on they’re roosting and you take some only way, <br />And you never whine or guzzle and you neither curse nor pray; <br />You will never for an instant let your lower lip be loosed— <br />But you stand up like a soldier when your sins come home to roost! <br /> <br />And you’ll find them growing lighter till you find room for a few <br />Of the sins of other mortals who have weaker souls than you: <br />Then you’ll smile, and not too sadly, at old sins reintroduced— <br />And you’ll be a man in many when your sins come home to roost.<br /><br />Henry Lawson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/when-your-sins-come-home-to-roost/
