I think you better go out with the boys
You stay inside too much, she tells her son
She knows she can’t express maternal joys
To George, although he is the only one
The only one she thinks of, in despair
Despair at what died deep inside her heart
Maternal joy she wishes she could share
With George her son; it tears her soul apart
She listens at his door and hopes he’ll find
The secret thing that died in her, not him
She kneels like one in prayer, a fragile mind
Rejecting thoughts that others might think grim
She wants him to be brisk and smart, alive
Outside where no dull silence will deprive.