This poem was written by a workaholic dad:
I have a son who’s five years old, a boy so very fine.
When I look at him it seems to me that all the world is mine.
But seldom do I ever see my son awake and bright.
I only see him when he sleeps. I’m only home at night.
When I come home so weary in the darkness after day
My wife says to me, “You should have seen
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