I have a son; no daughter yet.
How long until we’re finally met.
What ancient jug will fill with water,
when child born, bear no regret.
If one is sea, and other land,
the first is heart and other head.
Fate will land a chancing blow,
a favored child will surely grow.
Existence be a fickle game.
If time should stop and never change,
a soulless fraction stood unsolved,
resumed amidst the newborn’s song.