Father To Son Poem by Timothy Faboade

'You're about to set a new feat
In this world of ours. You have come
Thus far, very far from to have a name,
Listen to my words and the gnome
And in the mission you'll have no shame.

'In the dreams there will be some storm
Raging and rocking the sheer sea
On which you travel, this is a norm,
Tempest comes before the glee,
And above all these, my son, rise
With your oar and mind strongly,
And not be drowned by their size
As this will be, my son, very wrong.

'Many a foetus dies before birth
And flowers before becoming fruit,
Yes, some see it as a bestial brute
My son, life itself, to me, is a mirth.
Stand still even if the wind howls
Let not the waxing waves shake you,
Pains, fears and tears may grow,
But your lofty dream will come through.'