Youth troubles over eternity; age grasps at a day and is satisfied to have even the day. - Mary Gilmore

I have grown past hate and bitterness, I see the world as one;
But though I can no longer hate, My son is still my son.All men at God's round table sit, And all men must be fed;
But this loaf in my hand, This loaf is my son's bread.

I am not very patient, Yet patient I must be
With him beside my pillow And the babe upon my knee.
[...]
Strange that I was given
Thoughts that soar to heaven,
Yet must I sit and keep
Children in their sleep!

Never admit the pain,
Bury it deep;
Only the weak complain.
Complaint is cheap.