Posted by: cosmicgarden | November 28, 2011

My Boy, a poem by Morris Rosenfeld

I came across two verses of this poem somewhere and copied them. It really struck me and reminded me of all the days lost when my sons were young.

I was grateful for google because it allowed me to find the rest of the poem too.

 
poem 2011_11_28_16_10_31_Page_1

My Boy

 

a poem by Morris Rosenfeld

I have a little boy at home,

A pretty little son;

I think sometimes the world is mine

In him, my only one.

But seldom, seldom do I see

My child in heaven’s light;

I find him always fast asleep…

I see him but at night.

Ere dawn my labor drives me forth;

’Tis night when I am free;

A stranger am I to my child;

And strange my child to me.

I come in darkness to my home,

With weariness and—pay;

My pallid wife, she waits to tell

The things he learned to say.

How plain and prettily he asked:

“Dear mamma, when’s ‘Tonight’?

O when will come my dear papa

And bring a penny bright?”

I hear her words—I hasten

out—

This moment must it be!—

The father-love flames in my breast:

My child must look at me!

I stand beside the tiny cot,

And look, and list, and—ah!

A dream-thought moves the baby-lips:

“O, where is my papa!”

I kiss and kiss the shut blue eyes;

I kiss them not in vain.

They open,—O they see me then!

And straightway close again.

“Here’s your papa, my precious one;—

A penny for you!”—ah!

A dream still moves the baby-lips:

“O, where is my papa!”

 

And I—I think in bitterness

And disappointment sore;

“Some day you will awake, my child,

To find me nevermore.”

 

Translated by Rose Pastor Stokes and Helena Frank

Online text © 1998-2011 Poetry X. All rights reserved.

From Songs of Labor and Other Poems

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