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Prodigal Son II: Pride



“I tried and tried – he would not heed

The wisdom I was offering

That would have calmed his restless soul.

If he had shown more self-control,

All those sins that prodded him

Would have been severed, like a withered limb

From a tree that might bear so much fruit.

Oh Father, his very roots

Were gone – your loss is not so great.

All he’d learned to do was wait

For mercy from your hand.

He did not work an hour on your land

But thought all was freely his.

Do not pray for how he is;

He’s not your problem anymore.

He hung his sonship at the door

When he took your very life in cash

And ran. A son so brash –

Why search for him? I am here –

I know my place. Year by year

I’ve worked your fields,

Finding ways to increase yields

And protect your great estate.

He was always coming home too late –

Now he’s never coming back.

There’s too much that he lacks.

Look, Father, he needs tough love

Instead of handouts from above

Until he learns to work.

There’s too much duty he has shirked.

But we – we can kill the fatted calf

And rejoice that we’re better off by half

When he’s not here, and I can bet

You will not feel such keen regret

When surrounded by your friends.

If he tries sulking back to make amends,

I’ll send him back to his new home,

And let that teach him not to roam.”


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