#7 (The Craftsman's Son)

THE CRAFTSMAN'S SON


One fine July morning saw,

The Craftsman's son,

Spread eagled upon weeping grass,

Marvelling, at the greatest Creation ever,

The scent of lavender and rose,

Dispersed throughout the meadow.


Quiet, sat the dreamy eyed kid,

Tranquil flowed the stream nearby,

Whilst he looked onward, inspired,

A new seed of ambition and will hence sown,

Watered with tenacious tears and sweat,

In his life to come.


Thrived on thee, hath many hopes,

Whilst thee put passion before body,

Thy aches, thee knew, shal'st bring forth a gift,

An honour, a name, more willpower,

Struggling now in lieu of later.


Oh worry not, thee inoccent lad,

For the fruits you harvest shall be,

Sweeter than honey, thus so pleasant,

Pleased, proud be your peers,

Shining brightly whilst lighting,

The fires of more desire and inspiration.


-F. Julian

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