To my unborn son.

Life is all a barful strife, No dry ground is leveled out, Rocky hills And shallow valleys, All abounds to him that seeks gold. This, my son is a silly sooth, Thy beautiful dreams Will not easily fadge, Thou must war to give it life, Revolve this and also con. But howe’er hard and sinister It be, ahead lies mines of gold, So keep with thee as thou goest This tongue from my profound heart, Life is thorny and also rosy.