Your sons aren't your sons,
they're sons and daughters of life itself.
You give them life, but you don't create them.
They're close to you, but they're not yours.
You can give them all your love, but not your ideas,
because they have their own ideas.
You can house their body, but not their
soul,
because their soul lives in the house of what'll occur,
where you aren't supposed to go, not even through dreams.
You can try to look like them, but not that they
look like you,
because life doesn't go back and doesn't stop
at yesterday.
You're the arch that shoots your sons towards tomorrow.
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