The man in the picture is the onlooker’s son. Since he doesn’t have any brothers or sisters, the statement my father’s son can only be himself. A shortened version would be this man’s father is me, making him the father of the man in the picture.
I have palms but not on hands,
I offer foods from distant lands,
When at my peak you’ll see me smoke,
I’m famous for my friendly folk,
My flowers grow and yet they lay,
There’s fire where a man will play,
I’m sure you know we’re family,
You’re welcome to come stay with me.
What is the most precious commodity?
That which when needed seemingly is never enough,
Yet otherwise can be boringly plentiful.
While waking is oft dreamt of,
Whilst pining can scarcely be thought of.
For beings, is allotted in finite but indefinite quantity.
The more that’s given, the more is wasted.
Freedom is akin though this is something more simple,
Not related to virtue or sin.
Unless perhaps, without freedom, or its limit.
My first is in wield, sever bones and marrow.
My second is in blade, forged in cold steel.
My third is in arbalest, and also in arrows.
My fourth is in power, plunged through a shield.
My fifth is in honor, and also in vows
My last will put an end to it all.
