"Monday's child is fair of face"
She cradled in her soft embrace
her Monday's child, fair of face,
a winsome brown-eyed baby boy,
in all her life no greater joy.
She watched him grow, a handsome lad,
so much the image of his dad
that neighbors called him little Bill,
but he, he could not wait until --
-- the day he turned a bare eighteen
to don his nation's army green
and follow his commander's voice,
to fight the latest war of choice.
They brought him home, his face disguised.
To glance beneath was not advised.
She smothered in a last embrace
her Monday's child, fair of face.
-- Robert Brault