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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=523227" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Tommy's Dead</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">YOU may give over plough, boys, <br>You may take the gear to the stead, <br>All the sweat o' your brow, boys, <br>Will never get beer and bread. <br>The seed's waste, I know, boys, <br>There's not a blade will grow, boys, <br>'Tis cropped out, I trow, boys, <br>And Tommy's dead. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Send the colt to fair, boys, <br>He's going blind, as I said, <br>My old eyes can't bear, boys, <br>To see him in the shed; <br>The cow's dry and spare, boys, <br>She's neither here nor there, boys, <br>I doubt she's badly bread; <br>Stop the mill to-morn, boys, <br>There'll be no more corn, boys, <br>Neither white nor red; <br>There's no sign of grass, boys, <br>You may sell the goat and the ass, boys, <br>The land's not what it was, boys, <br>And the beasts must be fed: <br>You may turn Peg away, boys, <br>You may pay off old Ned, <br>We've had a dull day, boys, <br>And Tommy's dead. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Move my chair on the floor, boys, <br>Let me turn my head: <br>She's standing there in the door, boys, <br>Your sister Winifred! <br>Take her away from me, boys, <br>Your sister Winifred! <br>Move me round in my place, boys, <br>Let me turn my head, <br>Take her away from me, boys, <br>As she lay on here death-bed, <br>The bones of her thin face, boys, <br>As she lay on her death-bed! <br>I don't know how it be, boys, <br>When all's done and said, <br>But I see her looking at me, boys, <br>Whenever I turn my head; <br>Out of the big oak tree, boys, <br>Out of the garden-bed, <br>And the lily as pale as she, boys, <br>And the rose that used to be red. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">There's something not right, boys, <br>But I think it's not in my head, <br>I've kept my precious sight, boys, -- <br>The Lord be hallowéd! <br>Outside and in <br>The ground is cold to my tread, <br>The hills are wizen and thin, <br>The sky is shrivelled and shred, <br>The hedges down by the loan <br>I can count them bone by bone, <br>The leaves are open and spread, <br>But I see the teeth of the land, <br>And hands like a dead man's hand, <br>And the eyes of a dead man's head. <br>There's nothing but cinders and sand, <br>The rat and the mouse have fed, <br>And the summer's empty and cold; <br>Over valley and wold <br>Wherever I turn my head <br>There's a mildew and a mould, <br>The sun's going out overhead, <br>And I'm very old, <br>And Tommy's dead. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">What am I staying for, boys, <br>You're all born and bred, <br>'Tis fifty years and more, boys, <br>Since wife and I were wed, <br>And she'd gone before, boys, <br>And Tommy's dead. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">She was always sweet, boys, <br>Upon his curly head, <br>She knew she'd never see't, boys, <br>And she stole off to bed; <br>I've been siting up alone, boys, <br>For he'd come home, he said, <br>But it's time I was gone boys, <br>For Tommy's dead. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Put the shutters up, boys, <br>Bring out the beer and bread, <br>Make haste and sup, boys, <br>For my eyes are heavy as lead: <br>There's something wrong i' the cup, boys, <br>There's something ill wi' the bread, <br>I don't care to sup, boys, <br>And Tommy's dead. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I'm not right, I doubt, boys, <br>I've such a sleepy head, <br>I shall nevermore be stout, boys, <br>You may carry me to bed. <br>What are you about, boys? <br>The prayers are all said, <br>The fire's raked out, boys, <br>And Tommy's dead. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The stairs are too steep, boys, <br>You may carry me to the head, <br>The night's dark and deep, boys, <br>Your mother's long in bed, <br>'Tis time to go to sleep, boys, <br>And Tommy's dead. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I'm not used to a kiss, boys, <br>You may shake my hand instead. <br>All things go amiss, boys, <br>You may lay me where she is, boys, <br>And I'll rest my old head: <br>'Tis a poor world, this, boys, <br>And Tommy's dead.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Sydney+Thompson+Dobell">Sydney Thompson Dobell</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=523227" data-title="Tommy's Dead de Sydney Thompson Dobell" data-description="YOU may give over plough, boys, 
You may take the gear to the stead, 
All the sweat o' your brow, boys, 
Will never get beer and bread. 
The seed's waste, I know, boys, 
There's not a blade will grow, boys, 
'Tis cropped out, I trow, boys, 
And To..."></div>
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