Even the wayward know's his son,
It did replete them on the school walls,
That is the sackcloth of my story,
I did tall out of the many fall
Now,am sought with the bright stars
But my foot went through meekness,
Still,it is the strength borne out of scars.
This splendor knew much weekness,
The many psalms i now win
Had been mourned in desperation
I know no gold not medal, i now pin,
It was refined in perspiration
This smile was borne out of frown
I did till for this for this crown.
