Your eyes bright, eager and trusting,
Where do we go from here, my son,
I spent my essence, loving and lusting,
Chasing a paper god, my son.
I turned my sword to a feathered quill,
Ensnared your mother’s heart, my son,
She loved the god in the paper spill
But never the god in your father, son.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem