He had a son long before his dreams were realized,

Thought it was a joke and only took it seriously when it visualized.

Wasn’t brought up in a family that ignored responsibilities, so he stayed.

His lover, young and fragile, didn’t have the heart to return the baby to the Lord.

When it was time to push, the baby's torso wouldn't follow,

Thus his birth delayed.

Through thick and thin, they fed and lived.

Eleven years had passed, and his son had gotten ill.

He spent what he had and what he didn't,

Everything spent, all his money.

One day, he left with his son,

Told his lover he had found a cure.

"Where, how, when?" she questioned,

For it sounded obscure.

"I'll be back soon, and my little boy shall never fall ill again," he said.

Through honey-laced words, she was convinced.

She smiled, and for the first time in eleven years,

Slept well again.

Days and weeks had passed,

But her lover and son had not returned.

So she packed some sweaters, socks, tea, and bread,

For it was winter.

She marched on, following the trail of tales and gossip,

And soon found her lover drunk.

Though drunk to stupor, he quickly recognized her.

“Oh dear, what a pitiful state to be found.”

She was glad he was fine but asked after their son,

For his health would get worse with the cold.

The drunken lover coughed and wheezed,

Stared at all but her misty eyes,

And pointed at a mound of dirt.

"He got tired of everything, so he cried himself to sleep," said the drunken father.

"Well, he’s never falling ill again, and neither are you," said the mother.

She ran as fast as her cold and worn-out feet could carry her,

Just so she could alert the local authorities.

Later that night, a man could be seen

Walking from two mounds of earth.

He walked freely

Because he had no more responsibilities.