A Peasant and his Son
Once a little boy to a poor peasant born,
And that year the clouds refused to rain,
But a bed of roses for his child he sworn,
So he journeyed west in the midnight train.
"The west is rough!" his countrymen said,
But he readily embraced an arduous life,
For him it felt too less a price he paid,
To make his son's world with happiness rife.
He worked for years with no rest or sleep,
For the sake of his boy's vibrant future;
He climbed mountains high and steep,
And got his son into a college in winter.
Time took a leap, the little boy grew tall,
He fulfilled his studies and found a wife,
Then took a loan to buy a house in fall,
All because his father sacrificed his life.
Perhaps, in the pacy city he forgot to invite,
His dear father whose bones had weakened,
So he wrote him a letter about his plight,
"Son, I am getting old and can't pretend,
I wish you would take me from here."
A few days later, he came to the village,
Wearing a tuxedo and a pair of shiny shoes,
The farmer was glad to see his visage,
And couldn't help but let his tears go loose.
The day had come to repay his old man,
Of the pain and love, he nurtured him with
Of the blood and sweat he lost in the sand,
But never let his little flower wilt.
So to thank him, he didn't take him home,
Instead, he drove to an even better place,
That was called the old age home,
He said it had love and all the space,
That his father would ever need,
Then he took his car and turned his back,
And rewarded his father for his good deed,
Of lighting up his son's life dark.
The college in winter didn't cool his heart,
He did what every son must learn from,
To keep their parents from them apart,
Throw them into an old age home.
They will always be at peace,
Blessing their children for their kindness.
Old age homes are a happy place.