Why do men, under-achieving
And mediocre, want sons?
Because in our beaten, half-bludgeoned souls
Sore with failures, we crave new men,
Those we carry in our blood, our sperm.
Who will achieve, what we could not
‘cause
We were not bold enough to dream,
Wise and strong enough to achieve,
It will be like a new life.
Lived all over again,
A stack of new coins
Before a gambler
Who has lost his pile.
Another chance, at a better life
If at all, vicarious.
The world will remember us
For our more worthy sons
We fear death less
Than being forgotten.
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