A rhyming letter by Witold Pilecki to his son Andrzej

Well, so far, there’s been dead silence: Neither a word nor a piece of work. It is not pleasant to foretell the effects of chaos In such a boy. If your hand and eye are itching, Look for your equals – for the strong ones, And square up to them. You will succeed, So push your sword deep into your enemies! But to destroy weak creatures – the small ones, To take life away from them, when God protects them, That is the conduct of cowards, But never of knights. Yet, in spite of all this, I kiss you warmly, And perhaps you will send me your poems.