You casual mothers, who no longer care; You, who so lightly bore your sons, Grudgingly nursed, nor felt maternal pride, However faint, when toddling ones Turned breathlessly to you, triumphant and wide-eyed, For commendation -- You who have sons to spare! You, who ignored their little stomach-gnawings Because to satisfy them meant self-deprivation; Who doubtless frowned lest aught Of tenderness or tolerance be taught Them, or consideration, or that might Is not a constant synonym of right -- You, who have sons to spare! You, who have watched young limbs mature. Firm and responsive with that pure Red fluid that sets flesh aglow: You, who have watched them grow -- Yet, who have sons to spare! You will not shudder that some shrapnel-shell May stab this flesh into a burning hell Till gushes forth the torrent coursing there, Sending your son to start his journey West From out the shambles of some shelled machine-gun nest! Go trade them for dead heroes; nor Wait long to loose the dogs of war -- You, who have sons to spare! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A JOYFUL SONG OF FIVE by KATHERINE MANSFIELD THE BEGGAR'S HOLIDAY, FR. BEGGAR'S BUSH by JOHN FLETCHER TO LUCY, COUNTESS OF BEDFORD, WITH MR. DONNE'S SATIRES by BEN JONSON WHISPERS OF HEAVENLY DEATH by WALT WHITMAN MARIZIBILL by GUILLAUME APOLLINAIRE |