I looked into the unfocused eyes of each newborn son,
glad for the moment, my wifes' travails were done.

Together we embarked on a life with two little ones,
seemed like the path of responsibilities would never be run.

The pride of my life, following in my steps,
my young sons, of my loins, my whelps.

To them I was nothing short of superman,
I could build or fix anything with my hands.

But there was a much higher status that I had,
and I burst with pride when they called me Dad.

With everything they were sure to help,
slowly, surely, beginning to develop.

Lifelong skills that would go further than my own,
developing the seeds of the skills in them I'd sown.

Going much farther than heights I'd known,
much better men than ever I was, now they're grown.

At building, working with their hands,
the years soon gone, had their own wedding bands.

They now are men, teaching their own children,
to be doing things on their own, things they must learn.

Now my day is nearly done, my race almost run,
proven by the visible signs of the years in sun.

Years and years of hard manual labor,
has ravaged this body like a sharp sabre.

But the pains and aches cannot diminish the joy,
of my child, my sons, my own boys.

As their day is filled with the love,
that only comes from above.

Through his wife, his love,
bearing his children, his own blood.