Iambic pentameter

as Shakespeare’s Shall I compare Thee to a Summer’s Day?


His father’s cash (so soon round waster’s neck),
Is spent in wild and wicked, wanton ways;
With girls and drink and feasting foolish, reck-
Less. Soon, as dreadful famine filled their gaze


Reduced at last to humbly self-abase:
Tend dirty pigs, whose food (Oh rotting smell!)
Lets wisdom rise: he’ll bow upon his face.
‘No longer Son; for you I’ll labour well


And work in meekness, I’ll not be your boy –
A hireling – all I ask.’ Arise and start…
But, yet a long way from the farm, such joy!
His father runs with open arms and heart.


Now, signs of love bestowed, grace will abound –
He orders that the fatted calf be slain;
‘For this my son was lost, yet now is found.
He once was dead, but he’s alive again!’