Against the Wall

THREE POEMS

AGAINST THE WALL

If I live till my fighting days are done

I must fasten my armor on my eldest son.

I would give him better, but this is my best;

I can get along without it-I'll be glad to have a rest.

And Tl sit mending armor with my back against the wall,

Because I have a second son if this one should fall.

So I'll make it very shiny, and I'll whistle very loud,

And I'll clap him on the shoulder and I'll say, very proud:

"This is the lance J used to bear!"

(But I mustn't tell what happened when I bore it.)

"This is the helmet J used to wear!"

(But I won't say what befell me when I wore it.)

For you couldn't tell a youngster-it wouldn't be right-

That you wish you had died in your very first fight.

And I mustn't say that victory is never worth the cost,

That defeat may be bitter but it's better to have lost.

And I mustn't say that glory is as barren as a stone-

I'd better not say anything, but leave the lad alone.

So he'll fight very bravely and probably he'll fall.

And T'll sit mending armor with my back against the wall.