The Son of a Widow

I talk within the frame of my thought, I eat within frame of my ability, I go to school within the call of education The language in the streets enshroud me to the shoulder of a singer The crack of my feet on the ground with my feet stamps signed the effects of the long journey I have been taking The road to success is a slopping, but I managed eclipsed it with total focus I remember the boulevard roads from the day one I smelled the wind in my world I never give such thought to talk star. I poet the lines with the sound of personification I built my thought to mountains of Trembling fingers with curled hair I living in my imagination, I wasn't dare to be distracted from the ponder of education The looks of the lemon salivates my tongue, to the brewed of coffee in the morning I'm addicted to my thought, Um! Um! he groans within wisdom in his calories He ditch to flinch the fog through the trash that tall his ambition Mum middle her kids, while dad sleeping in his shallow box where no amount wealth can will him to salvation like King Solomon I couldn't understand, why my dad dug hole so early to helm the rim of his kids behind with single mum at the edge of wearing the gown of responsibilities upon that tiny brain The kids crippled with no option except opting in towns and cities wanting to dribble remittances to the wooden house under the boulder He lynches the hurdles from his Oceans of struggling like boiling water in the morning His ideas met with pain but his smile shall dwell in heaven As fate is weapon designed to fight poverty within the frame of my thought, it will rain with prosperity. The frosh of imagination is the fruit of my labor where I coined the truth with colorful look.