A Love-Hate Sonnet

No man can loathe himself and love his son;
His smaller self alike he must despise—
Yea, though his love his lovely wife has won
And though his smaller self has mamma's eyes.
To wife's life-plan a man will lend his seed,
And for the sake of love risk twice the hate;
But thrice the hate the loving scheme will breed,
If son from father takes the hateful trait.
Then father's hate for father gains a friend,
For larger self son's hate will also rate.
Thus husband's love-choice spawns a loathsome end:
Four times his hate his love does propagate.
       So husband, loving, hopes for daughter sweet
       And that one child makes wife's joy complete.