Oh boy of mine, spread-eagled on your bed,
Whose is the see-er eye that might divine
The fate that forms around your tousled head,
Oh boy of mine.
A crumpling form that gaps the ragged line,
Cheeks sudden gray, and limbs grotesquely spread,
Brown eyes a trophy for the rat’s rapine.
Or glad adventure in a world new led
To paths of peace by Liberty divine.
Nay, if the choice be now, why should I dread
Oh boy of mine?
(Burnett A. Ward)
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