My son Pema
Is a bouncing boy.
He calls himself Rama
And makes Him a toy.
His full name is Pema Tashi.
He likes being called Dorji instead.
He throws a fuss if I say Yeshi—
Better his father's last name instead.
I tell him a name is just a name,
Don't make such a nonsense flame.
It's not where you came from,
But you can still make good fame.
His only aim: to be a truck driver.
He brings many trucks, breaks them too,
Then throws them in the nearby river.
He asks me, "Is a real truck that weak? Is that true?"
He calls me Tom and himself Jerry.
He calls me Eon and himself Ben Ten.
We bet—our team was in a hurry—
Then he smacks me till I'm beaten.
We are like Kenchosum, we are three.
My wife and I do everything for his happiness.
He is the only fruit on our tree.
Let him be anyone—for human goodness.
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