‘I would inherit now.’ A son’s harsh tone:
With father’s heavy heart, transaction’s done.
In Dissipation City bills are paid;
‘There’s plenty more for us to spend, he said.
A wanton girl; pneumatic, wicked daughter
Blew cash and waged with greed and frenzied laughter.
She rashly bet, behaving like a fiend,
Distributed his wealth – no proper friend.
And once this boy had no more treasure trove
Then honest, faithful love she did not prove.
A famine rose to savage, fearsome height;
The population there were losing weight.
His money lost, all thrown before the wind
He tended pigs that had but husks to grind;
(Their flesh had gone to merely skin and bone).
His thought process was a revealing one.
‘I will arise; to father’s farm I’ll come –
He’ll bid me leave? Or welcome this son home?
It’s only right for me to face his anger
A worthy son no more – but mere hired stranger.
Emotions are confused and hopes are vague;
Yet certainly I faint from starving ague.’
This son dismissed what should have been revered,
Yet father retains love; was never severed.
Seen still a long way off (his father’s vow?
Keep lonely vigil over fields below) –
The lad began ‘My sonship I’ll rescind…’
Profligate greeting: overwhelming kind!
Delighted Dad! he clutched him to his breast
And called for gifts, and threw a wondrous feast
With roasted calf and bread; ‘Come all, let’s banquet…
We’ll eat and drink my wine of heady bouquet!
‘Cook partridge, grouse and venison – all game
On toast with sprinkled seeds of sesame.
Despite the waste of money from my wallet
Fetch dancers to enthrall us now with ballet!
So chef, show off your finest recipes
(While minstrels strum and sing or play on pipes)
Yes, roast the fatted calf, monkfish and herring
We’ll feast to welcome my boy, who’s been erring.
‘This lad to blame? No, he’s forgiven. Tears?
Begone! Fetch sandals, coat! My ring he wears!
Alive or dead we never really knew.
(To patch his clothes we’ll get someone to sew).
Like blood as mine is coursing through his veins
This line endures – if soon he eats proteins!)’
Extemporaneous (he did not read
The speech) ‘Alive, although I feared him dead!
‘New coat, new shoes! His hair we’ll gently comb –
No longer should his style befit the tomb –
Or by mistake leave trimmed not his moustache.
No! Comfort him! His weary soul won’t ache.
(I can’t deny he acted rather dumbly,
But bring him wine – and stilton, creamy crumbly!)
My humbled son no longer shows hubris!’
Let’s Party! I don’t care we’ll make debris.’
[1] no claim is made that all of these used to sound as rhymes; note also Heteronyms and the out-of-control extreme eye rhyme Ough
No comments:
Post a Comment