Selfish it seemed to turn from one so true,
And I of course was desperate of you.
I’ve borne him children six; we’ve left behind
Three little ones, whom soon I hope to find.
To my dear boy he ever has been kind.
‘Next week we sail, and I should be so glad,
Only to leave my boy will make me sad.
But yours he is by right—the grief I’ll bear,
And at his age, more easy he can spare,
Perhaps, a mother’s than a father’s care.