A Call From Dad

My Child the time is growing short. We really need to talk. There are things that you don't understand, So you rave and rant and balk. You want to captain your own ship, Won't kneel before a Master, Because many who have lived by faith, Have met with some disaster. But all men serve a god My Child, Be he low or noble born, But it seems the more a man is blessed, The more he tends to scorn, All that's good and right in life, And all that makes good sense, But for showing such distain, There must be recompense. The sheep who stay within the fold, Are fed, protected, sheltered, But those who shun The Shepherd's care, Are food for wolves and buzzards. Come home to Me while there's still time. I'll open wide the door. Come home while I still reach for you. Be strange to Me no more.