My Son, Listen to Me.

My Son, the glory of my morning

My darling, the strength of my breath

Your cry impregnate my standing

When you are worried I could barely breathe

My baby king, the courage of my wind, 

My sweet song, the tenacity of my gong

That gave happiness to my voice to sing

That made all feet to dance along 

My crown, the abatement of my pain

My Joy, the deadline of my shame. 

Your smile shower increase to my gain

Your wholeness proclaim my fame. 

My son, I never cook with flames 

That burns with my aims and claims

Nor a mud pot that disclaims your name

Never set aflame to claim your shame 

I see your queen in garments of disguise

That cages a heart to afterwards weep

My being strive to realize her devices

Of deceit from the kisses of her lips

My cleverness challenged her craftiness 

To spur with no breath to slur

Her curdle breaks bones in rottenness 

Her smiles, great pretense they pour

Listen to the cry of the forgotten woman

That birth you in the cold of the lake

Hearken to my voice, my only man

That your heart may yell for hotcake