My Boy 1988
No one ever told me, it could be like this.
To have such a fine boy, whose life I'd miss.
To look at a face, grow into a face like my own.
Bass in his voice, could he be my clone?
If along our path, should we walk by.
Would I know him from his stride. My stride, coincide.
Are his thought that of mine? Does he tilt his head just so?
Absent from his world, how would I know?
I could only hope we have what binds.
A father. A son. Could God be so kind?
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