Spartan Mother

 My mother loved her horses and
 Her hounds of pedigree;
She did not kiss the baby hand
 I held to her in glee.

Of course I had a sweet nou-nou
 Who tended me with care,
And mother reined her nag to view
 Me with a critic air.


So I went to a famous school,
 But holidays were short;
My mother thought me just a fool,
 Unfit for games and sport.

For I was fond of books and art,
 And hated hound and steed:
Said Mother, 'Boy, you break my heart!
 You are not of our breed.
'

Then came the War.
 The Mater said:
 'Thank God, a son I give
To King and Country,'--well, I'm dead
 Who would have loved to live.

'For England's sake,' said she, 'he died.

 For that my boy I bore.
'
And now she talks of me with pride.

 A hero of the War.


Mother, I think that you are glad
 I ended up that way.

Your horses and your dogs you had,
 And still you have today.

Your only child you say you gave
 Your Country to defend .
 .
 .

Dear Mother, from a hero's grave
 I--curse you in the end.

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