For My Son Poem by Charles Jagongo

That I smoke this pipe
As smoke greets the sky
Here I see the past
When we did a thousand orders
Of our elders,
That owls would not hoot
As our paths would be done with silver
A ritual done for men
That we would not wail,
Cut, for action would make a man.
That peace would be yours in head
And keep it not as they loose theirs,
Hope makes a man when all are done
But chance would come in diguise as horror
Pray not with head but with the heart
For it makes your soul whole.
I've done athousand miles.
This button from my ancestors
Would be yours for your children,
To guide and for honour
The past lies like a bow
That throws you like an arrow.
Take heart my son
This world is for hearts of steel.