The Prodigal’s Father

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The Prodigal’s father

I remember with joy the birth of my boys,

Overwhelmed by new life placed in my hands,

Those tiny screwed up faces and precious small lives

The future, the key to my plans.

Their characters so different they grew day by day.

Each achievement caused my heart to swell

My precious own family, my objects of love,

My hope for the future as well.

The oldest, what a worker, a great business brain,

His efforts caused my empire to bloom,

The younger, more light-hearted, a free spirit they said,

Rejected home “I just need some room.”

He said “Don’t get me wrong, but if you were dead,

I would be incredibly wealthy don’t want to be rich when I’m tired and old

Can I have my share now; while I’m healthy?

”As simple as that he took his whole share

And within a short week he had left.

Leaving without even a slight backward glance

His mother and I were bereft.

Each day I longed to see his safe return

,I scanned that far reaching road,

Longing to hear just a snippet of news,

Yet fearing what I might be told.

Then, one day, to my long-tired eyes

There appeared over the far rising track

A figure I just knew just by his short gait,

My lost son; at last he was back.

I ran to my son on legs that grew wings,

Embraced him and started to laugh,

Told the servant to prepare a veritable feast,

And draw him a much-needed bath.

What joy we felt his mother and me,

One lost had returned to the fold,

I sang and I danced at the sight of that boy,

So blessed and no longer old.

We partied away over a reluctant calf,

His brother not sharing my joy.

Still bitter I think at my undying love,

At being restored to my boy.

And you can be sure of a Father’s true love,

Though you may have wandered and failed,

For God’s still waiting to see you return,

And His love in Christ has prevailed.

Chris Poole