'Now, Jim, my dear, trust mother, there's a dear.'
'Well, so I do, but sometimes you're so queer.'
She blinked at him out of her withered eyes
Below her lashless eyelids red and bleared.
Her months of sacrifice had won the prize,
Her Jim had come to what she always feared.
And yet she doubted, so she shook and peered
And begged her God not let a woman take
The lovely son whom she had starved to make.
Doubting, she stood the dishes in the rack,