Come child and listen to a father’s plea:
Be a composer, or cowboy, or cop;
Just never forget your growing dreams.
Grab for clouds, reach for mountain tops,
And sprint for wishes that drift in the wind,
But never seek to be another thing
Other than the hopes on hope you’ve pinned.
Yearn not for Much Ado About Nothing
Nor Starry Nights and Pollard Willows.
Be yourself, and this for true is true:
The world has seen a Shakespeare and Van Gogh
But the world has yet to see a you.