---

Robert W Service - Her Letter
Work rating: Low

"I`m taking pen in hand this night, and hard it is for me; 
My poor old fingers tremble so, my hand is stiff and slow, 
And even with my glasses on I`m troubled sore to see. . . . 
You`d little know your mother, boy; you`d little, little know. 
You mind how brisk and bright I was, how straight and trim and smart; 
`Tis weariful I am the now, and bent and frail and grey. 
I`m waiting at the road`s end, lad; and all that`s in my heart, 
Is just to see my boy again before I`m called away." 

"Oh well I mind the sorry day you crossed the gurly sea; 
`Twas like the heart was torn from me, a waeful wife was I. 
You said that you`d be home again in two years, maybe three; 
But nigh a score of years have gone, and still the years go by. 
I know it`s cruel hard for you, you`ve bairnies of your own; 
I know the siller`s hard to win, and folks have used you ill: 
But oh, think of your mother, lad, that`s waiting by her lone! 
And even if you canna come — just write and say you will." 

"Aye, even though there`s little hope, just promise that you`ll try. 
It`s weary, weary waiting, lad; just say you`ll come next year. 
I`m thinking there will be no `next`; I`m thinking soon I`ll lie 
With all the ones I`ve laid away . . . but oh, the hope will cheer! 
You know you`re all that`s left to me, and we are seas apart; 
But if you`ll only say you`ll come, then will I hope and pray. 
I`m waiting by the grave-side, lad; and all that`s in my heart 
Is just to see my boy again before I`m called away."
Source
The script ran 0.001 seconds.