The was once a boy who thought his world wouldn't be his fan,
when he saw his mother with another man,
then his mother told his father to go,
and never come back as if it was the flow,

He was heading to his fathers,
which really was really a bother,
because the boy was in a fright,
when he was on his way he still didn't find the light,

he would neer arrive to where he was to go,
because his plane left him where there wasn't the flow
of the road, his was very alone,
with only himself and no phone,

he had a little axe,
and he thought of someone who gave him some facts,
then he was calm,
like a palm,
when there wasn't any wind

Who thinks my poem is good?