Scarce knowin' 'ow, I gits out in the yard,
An' leans agen the fence an' thinks reel 'ard.
A long, long time I looks at my two 'ands.
"They're all I got," I thinks, "they're all that stands
Twixt this 'ard world an' them I calls me own.
An' fer their sakes I'll work 'em to the bone."
Them vows an' things sounds like a lot o' guff.
Maybe, it's foolish thinkin' all this stuff--
Maybe, it's childish-like to scheme an' plan;
But--I dunno--it's that way wiv a man.
I only know that kid belongs to me!
We ain't decided yet wot 'e's to be.
Doreen, she sez 'e's got a poit's eyes;
But I ain't got much use fer them soft guys.
I think we ort to make 'im something great--
A bookie, or a champeen'eavy-weight:
Some callin' that'll give 'im room to spread.
A fool could see 'e's got a clever 'ead.
I know 'e's good an' honest; for 'is eyes
Is jist like 'ers; so big an' lovin'-wise;
They carries peace an' trust where e'er they goes
An', say, the nurse she sez 'e's got my nose!
Dead ring fer me ole conk, she sez it is.
More like a blob of putty on 'is phiz,
I think. But 'e's a fair 'ard case, all right.
I'll swear I thort 'e wunk at me last night!
My wife an' fam'ly! Don't it sound all right!
That's wot I whispers to meself at night.
Some day, I s'pose, I'll learn to say it loud
An' careless; kiddin' that I don't feel proud.
My son!.
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