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by Nate Corbitt

My Father gave a gift to me.
its value was more than I could see.
I took His gift and ran away,
But the gift was there to stay.
I lived my life as I saw fit,
And That is how I landed in this pit.
The smell is often more than I can bear,
Yet, to turn and face my father, I cannot dare.
Day by day I toil in this mire,
And in my heart, there burns an aching fire.
I am that child that went astray,
So, I deserve this rotten clay.
Days turn to weeks, then weeks to years.
My constant companions are my fears.
Fear of failure, fear of pain,
The fear that I may be going insane.
My soul grows weary of this place,
So, I return my father to face.
I shall return to my home in shame.
A wretch unworthy to bear His name.
no longer an heir, but just a knave.
I shall return and become his slave.
Yet, as I walk this well remembered path.
I see my Father, and His face holds no wrath.
And, as I neared my home of old.
A wondrous sight did I behold.
I'd never seen Him run before,
so, I began my petition to implore.
His strong arms raised me from my knees.
His voice resounded over my pleas,
He demanded shoes for my feet and a robe for my back,
and a ring for my finger when I'd long forgotten it's lack.
He prepared a celebration comparable to none.
Our Father welcomed back His wayward son.
He showed great compassion and forgiveness undo.
Now brother, what will you do?

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