Ode to Father

Paragon of perfection, father dear?
Molded from outlands, hewn from rock cities:
The sinewy heart must take without fear
No lonely nor lowly proximities
To build from not, a sure nobility
And spirit of motivation, ripe life
O'erflowing in limitless, fruited trees;
Is not this the path to eternity
To bear 'midst the raspings of mortal strife
For the pinnacle yet extol the breeze?

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