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Robert W Service - Spartan Mother
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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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