Their Offspring

I wish i was born in the old days, when no-one care
Greatly about how they look, when all choose to
Work with knowledge that makes them alive, when
They all have many sense than one in common.
I wish i was an endowed poet then, with many of us
Does nothing but embrace poetry now—although
Now i will be no more but my words will stay for long
As literature still lives with their offspring.
I wish to make amend on what they might see,
When they are more like me to write their own wish;
Wish of love, wish of hate, wish of richness for them
To flaunt with their mate; as one day they will also
Wish they never came—in a time too late.


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