Haiku of disturbing grace.
The man had two sons.
The second came, uncaring;
I need my share now.
The son went abroad
to ply his profligate plan:
wine, women and song.
The money is gone,
the so-called friends disappear,
poverty beckons.
Heading for his home,
what will he say? Sorry Dad,
don’t call me your son.
His father rejoiced,
My son was dead, Now he lives!
Come, it’s party-time !
The older brother
is unimpressed, refusing
the celebrations.
When such grace abounds
we who are worthy must choose:
judge, or celebrate?
Will the fatted calf
provide feasting for us all,
or just the sinful?
© Ken Rookes 2022
