The Early years

Just a short poem I wrote when really young, found it amongst old school books years ago, I'd rather not explain the lyrics anymore than its my earliest memories of which concerned my father.

Milkmaid and infant, low, huddled cower
The makers reign in vocal showers
China doth crack, splinter and scatter
Skin unbroken but hearts left battered
Two wheels, two riders, mech bat appears
The happiest moment form these early years
Father, lover but always the plight
thrice feather born, gobbled each night

The soil of a mans heart is harder, grow big and strong,
Just like your father.