Tuesday, August 29, 2006


I came across this poem in an article about Rudyard Kipling and his son who died during World War War I, the first "war to end all wars." Kipling wrote an amazing poem about his dead son a year later. The
article is here and the poem is below and in the article.

My Boy Jack (1916)

Have you news of my boy Jack?'
Not this tide.
'When d'you think that he'll come back?'
Not with this wind blowing, and this tide.

'Has any one else had word of him?'
Not this tide.
For what is sunk will hardly swim,
Not with this wind blowing, and this tide.

'Oh, dear, what comfort can I find?'
None this tide,
Nor any tide,
Except he did not shame his kind -
Not even with that wind blowing, and that tide.

Then hold your head up all the more,
This tide,
And every tide;
Because he was the son you bore,
And gave to that wind blowing and that tide!

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