"Ode to Son" by Mark Brahmin
Aye, to you I bestow this life,
You, my beloved, precious son,
life obtained through greatest strife,
And with it all my victories won,
To you this heirloom is imparted,
All that is good and all that is true,
Only you continue what I started,
All of which was started for you,
Aye, it was for you that I created,
It was for you I dared to last,
It was for you I loved or hated.
It was for you that I surpassed.
And yet this life that I sowed,
This path that I have showed,
And by greatest toil bestowed,
Is, yes, also to your father owed.
My blood in which your genius is found,
You are called upon this to defend,
But by no other chain are you bound,
If only you live always to this end.
Yet as you are by me possessed,
So also me you likewise possess
And with a power unguessed,
Which enemies tremble to assess.
For this greatness feel never shame,
Unless its power has gone to waste,
For this greatness accept never blame
For survival is upon greatness based.
And never believe in fated decline,
Or that all things must turn to sand,
For you are the sun, not the vine,
The seasons: at your command.
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