Every father’s child,
A seed in the wild,
Nature and nurture are its tutors,
The unseen are its captors.
Every father’s child,
Crafted by the gentle and mild,
They come to a vast field,
Oblivious of tomorrow’s yield.
Every father’s child,
Made to go through the wild,
As they hunt for treasures in the night,
Time teaches them to fight.
Every father’s child,
Their tomorrow is scripted and filed,
Carried by tender bosom,
Separated as they blossom.
Thompson Emate spends his leisure time on creative writing, particularly poetry and prose. He has a deep love for nature and the arts. He lives in Lagos, Nigeria.