If I had hatred in my heart toward my fellow man,
If I were pressed to do him ill, to conjure up a plan
To wound him sorely and to rob his days of all their joy,
I’d wish his wife would go away and take their little boy.
I’d waste no time on curses vague, nor try to take his gold,
Nor seek to shatter any plan that he might dearly hold.
A crueler revenge than that for him I would bespeak:
I’d wish his wife and little one might leave him for a week.
I’d wish him all the loneliness that comes with loss of those
Who fill his life with laughter and contentment and repose.
I’d wish him empty rooms at night and mocking stairs to squeak
That neither wife nor little boy will greet him for a week.
If I despised my fellow man, I’d make my hatred known
By wishing him a week or two of living all alone;
I’d let him know the torture that is mine to bear to-day,
For Buddy and his mother now are miles and miles away.
