He’s working hard! Between the lines
We gather that. The brass he shines
Without complaining, and the food
He gets to eat is very crude.
And yet he laughs at all his chores.
He says the maid who scrubs our floors
Will have to quit when he returns
Unless a better way she learns.
“I’ve got it on the fairer sex,”
Says he, “since I am swabbing decks.”
“A sailor’s life, dear Mom,” writes he,
“Is not the life you picked for me.
And yet I’m getting fat and strong
And learning as I go along
That any life a man can find
Is apt to grow to be a grind
Unless a fellow has the wit
To see the brighter side of it.
Don’t worry for your sailor son;
He sleeps well when his work is done.”
We’ve had a letter from the boy,
And, oh, the gladness and the joy
It brought to us! ’Twas good to know
48
