A wonderful poem called “The Prodigal Son” by Albert Watson.
‘Dad give me my inheritance, I’ll see the world, take my chance.
Life for me upon this farm, Has no attraction, lost its charm.
Milking cows and herding goats, Growing corn, rye and oats.
This farming life is not for me, I wish to go to a far country.’
‘Yes, I know I’m your youngest son, But after all is said and done.
This place for me is now a chore, Frankly dad it’s become a bore.
Bless you dad you understand, I receive my money from your hand.
Over there beyond that hill, I’ll start new life, ambition fulfil.’
‘Hi there friend, hello my mate, Living here must be truly great.
Have a drink let’s go on a spree, I’ll pay for it with my money.
I say, you are a pretty girl, You’ve got my head in quite a whirl.
Can I spend some time with you? Darling, you want money too.’
Times moved on and cash is low, Friends have said they’ve got to go.
Things for me not quite so grand, Money gone, a famine in the land.
I’ll go to work with farming skills, Need do something to pay the bills.
So in a field eating pods with pigs, Whatever happened to my luxury digs.
Things now getting very bad, I’m thinking of my life with dad.
What would he say if I wandered back? And offered to become a hired hack.
With broken spirit and body, thin. ‘I’ll be your servant take me in.’
‘My son, we’ll do no such thing, Wear these shoes, a robe, a ring.
Servant kill the fatted calf. Play some music, dance, laugh.
Invite the our friends from all around, My son was lost, but now he’s found.’