A mother tells her children bluntly that their father has died. Rather than stopping to mourn, she immediately turns to practical tasks—cutting down his old coats and pants into clothes for them. She divides what was in his pockets: pennies for Dan’s bank and keys for Anne to jingle. The details are tender but plain, and the repeated line “Life must go on” sounds less like comfort than like something she is forcing herself to believe. The nursery-rhyme quality of “Listen, children” makes the grief feel even more unsettling. The final line, “I forget just why,” gives the piece its real sting. The speaker is not insensitive; she is exhausted and numb, using routine to hold herself together. The mood is quiet and restrained, but underneath there is deep grief that has no simple outlet.
Lament — Summary
Listen, children: Your father is dead. From his old coats I'll make you little jackets; I'll make you little trousers From his old pants. There'll be in his pockets Things he used to put there, Keys and pennies Covered with tobacco; Dan shall have the pennies To save in his bank; Anne shall have the keys To make a pretty noise with. Life must go on, And the dead be forgotten; Life must go on, Though good men die; Anne, eat your breakfast; Dan, take your medicine; Life must go on; I forget just why.