The Prodigal

Today I leave for my home,
I have spent years on the roam,
months sleeping under the dome.

Hungry with little to eat,
at home servants eat choice meat;
but here I live on the street.

I squandered my father's wealth,
and have ruined my own health.
A bad hand, I have been dealth.

"Though my conduct deserves death,
forgive me as you did Seth,
before you breathe your last breath."
Copyright © | Year Posted 2021

Poem

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