A Son

Poem By Rudyard Kipling

My son was killed while laughing at some jest, I would
I knew
What it was and it might serve me in a time when jests
are few.

Comments about A Son

The poem is misquoted.
what the fuck dark much


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Other poems of KIPLING

If

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too:

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There was no one like 'im, 'Orse or Foot,
Nor any o' the Guns I knew;
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Help for a patriot distressed, a spotless spirit hurt,
Help for an honourable clan sore trampled in the dirt!
From Queenstown Bay to Donegal, O listen to my song,
The honourable gentlemen have suffered grievous wrong.