Apollo my son
I come to you more bitter than gall
For I feel that the nine tiring months
Of you in my womb was just but passing my time
My eyes sense neither the fruit of my labour
Of my screeching screams as I toiled hard
Extremely hard to make you see this world
Apollo my son
Many years after selling my herd of cattle
The price of the woman that befits our clan
The most conversant one with herbal concoctions
There still is no sign of a grandchild my son
Five years and counting Apollo
How can a man be this less of a man