Father and Sons

Father, he said;

Yes, I answered, to this one

(My younger), when asked his share

From me.

This one, so young, so soft and eager–

He broke my heart,

When he gathered together,

Leaving, to squander my riches.

That day, departed, he died

To me, now like stinging wind,

Blowing–I hear only the rumors,

Debauchery, poverty, hoping only

To eat as well as food

I would not

Have put on his table.

My older, he’s harder

And red from the sun, loyal

To me, many years working,

Staying and working.

But  (like I’ve said) he’s hard, and he’s cold.

Loyal without love;

He’s had my whole bounty,

And yet squanders my riches.

Oh, that one of my dead sons would arise!

Casting my eyes up this dusty roads’ rise,

This beggar I see, haggard and walking–

But Wait!

Wait!

Can it be?–Yes!

It’s him! Oh, it’s him!

My younger so long dead son is alive!

Father, he says, I’m dirty, unworthy,

I’ve squandered your bounty–

But, no, my son, you don’t know my joy!

            The best robe, a ring,

                 and shoes for his feet!

            The fatted calf-slay it–

     we shall glory and feast!

My older, complains, says he’s earned

More his due.

You have and could have it, I tell him

With love, your lost brother is found, was

Dead now alive.

So arise, now, my older,

As your younger has done,

Grasp now my riches, be now my son!