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Poem by Robert William Service
My only medals are the scars I've won in weary, peacetime wars, A-fighting for my little brood, To win them shelter, shoon and food; But most of all to give them faith In God's good mercy unto death. My sons have medals gleaming bright, Proud trophies won in foreign fight; But though their crosses bravely shine, My boys can show no wounds like mine - Grim gashes dolorously healed, And inner ailings unrevealed. Life-lasting has my battle been, My enemy a fierce machine; And I am marked by many a blow In conflict with a tireless foe, Till warped and bent beneath the beat Of life's unruth I own defeat. Yet strip me bare and you will see A worthy warrior I be; Although no uniform I've worn, By wounds of labour I am torn; Leave the their ribbands and their stars... Behold! I proudly prize my scars.
Robert William Service
Robert William Service's other poems:
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