A prodigal returned; was met
by those who never could forget.
They cherished naught but memory,
and made it rub like emery.
The prodigal must fight the past;
his 'friends' would like it long to last.
For prodigals the future beams,
and recollection turns to dreams.
But those with no cause to repent
oft turn the welcome to torment.
Though prodigals have made mistakes,
I think the smug make more heartaches . . .
No comments:
Post a Comment