Since I shall never have a son
I write these words for any one
Who for the first time knows the truth
That hides beneath the bloom of youth
To plumb an awful cavity
Between the is and ought-to-be.
This world that seems so fair behind
Its veil of seeming is a blind
Where things that should not be but are
Assail the nose, tongue, eye, and ear
And by their slow infection try
To make us inmates of its sty.
What then ought you to do? Decline
The challenge and go root with swine?
Or weep into your tavern beer
To mourn the fates that brought you here?
Or prematurely end the game
Whose dice are not the dice they claim?
Avoid such cop-outs, then, my son.
Do what I and better men have done.
Like you, both they and I saw through
The veil that blurs the false and true;
Saw, too, the world of grace and sin
As paradigm for ours within;
Saw in this power to know and see
The germ of inner victory
And built a citadel of self
With quality as basic wealth,
And from this base we outward strove
To aid the good we prized through love.
We faced grim foes that tried our grit;
Defeated oft, we never quit,
But raised our standards proud and high
Against all mediocrity
To learn beyond all bitterness
That winning, losing matter less.
It is the joy of battle-glow
That sets adrenalins aflow
And gives a tang and zest to life
That more than justifies the strife.