He Thinks of His Children

Fortune has brought me down—her wonted way—

from station great and high to low estate;

Fortune has rent away my plenteous store:

of all my wealth honor alone is left.

Fortune has turned my joy to tears: how oft

did fortune make me laugh with what she gave!

But for these girls, the kata’s downy brood,

unkindly thrust from door to door as hard—

Far would I roam and wide to seek my bread

in earth that has no lack of breadth and length.

Nay, but our children in our midst, what else

but our hearts are they, walking on the ground?

If but the breeze blow harsh on one of them

my eye says no to slumber all night long.

Source: Father: An Anthology of Verse (EP Dutton & Company, 1931)