Nature's Touch

Robert William Service

In kindergarten classed
          Dislike they knew;
And as the years went past
          It grew and grew;
Until in maidenhood
          Each sought a mate,
Then venom in their mood
          Was almost hate.

The lure of love they learned
          And they were wed;
Yet when they met each turned
          Away a head;
Each went her waspish way
          With muted damns—
Until they met one day
          With baby prams.

Then lo! Away was swept
          The scorn of years;
Hands clasped they almost wept
          With gentle tears.
Forgetting hateful days,
          All mother mild,
Each took with tender praise
          The other’s child.

And now they talk of milk,
          Of diapers and such;
Of baby bosoms silk
          And tender to the touch.
A gemlike girl and boy,—
          With hope unsaid,
Each thinks with mother joy:
          ‘May these two wed!’

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