Nationality Poem by Dame Mary Gilmore
Nationality
Rating: ★2.8
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.
Thursday, January 1, 2004
Topic(s) of this poem: hate,son
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7/31/2026 4:59:35 AM # rel_20260727T173023Z_37e450e
