I
taught my son lessons on singing
And
made him with my sweats a great singer.
Sons’
glory is fathers’ glory.
His
glory is my glory.
His
wings spread and mine shrunk.
People
thronged around him and spared me.
They
didn’t say he was the great;
They
said I was no where near him.
His
glory is not my glory;
Sons’
glory is not fathers’ glory.
Can
there be two heroes in a play?
Should
he outlive me in the posterity?
He
is my rival, no more a son.
11.02.2005
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