The Unending Sojourn

Once, a boy a dime a dozen,

Oh, overseas is just the good egg, my son;

His ethnical flock said day in & day out,

The daily drudgery would all be a cakewalk, no doubt.

They put the sack of golden living index of the time afar,

On him since day one, but he led in with blind aspirations’ scar;

He thought though, what my mother doesn’t have that the far-flung does,

But he laboured hush-hush, towards the popular fuzz.

He went away one day,

Away from his town’s hay;

To achieve what only he knew; or perhaps not,

Oh then, he wrapped around his mind, to live back in his place was to rot.

His parents made devotions no end,

Oh, he was too busy with his work role he did pretend;

Despairing, they dug their own grave,

But their dearest son never came back to save.