THE PRODIGAL!

How much shall I give?

To a son who has yet to live:

Shall there be a division that is fair,

Of whatever provisions that will be his share?

How many times will the question come?

" Father give my portion that I may leave home!"

Each day the question is asked!

What will you give me before this day has passed?

May I have silver, to spend as I see fit?

May I take transport, to freewheel as my gift?

May I bring my friends along for revelry?

Will you let me give away my clothes and jewellery?

Give me your time today; Is it not free?

You have little that I want, only money!

Be ready when I ask, do what I want;

Take me to all and any special event.

Distance should be no object, wherever it be,

I ask and expect your support to my activity.

How old is my child? Is he a man?

When will he make decisions of his own?

At what age does maturity warrant

Self determination and mental effort?

The time has come for a son to leave,

For a parent to stand by and grieve.

The years may be empty and void;

Toil is served and remains unenjoyed.

Privilege is wasted and discarded,

Hunger is the outcome of stubbornness.

Servanthood is hard and unrewarded,

Truth is only appreciated by thoroughness.

"To what shall I return?"

How can I demonstrate that I can learn?

Will my parents appreciate my fate?

Is it possible that care comes out, not too late?

Take me back; give me work,

Let me prove myself free of quirk!

Why must I remain alone?

I am unable to get things done;

My days are spent from early morn,

Tending my chores while my heart is torn.

No help, no thanks for one at home,

While my father, a brother, long lost will mourn.