Brian Laidlaw

Poet | Songwriter | Educator

Prodigal Son

 

You were a good worker, carrying your load

but I’m not as fragile as you think I am

Just think of your mother when you hit the road

Sometimes yr the blossom & sometimes yr the stem

 

The farm is quiet, and I see the allure

Of a high-rise, a pay raise, and the folks that offer them

Winter by winter, our occupants are fewer

Sometimes yr the blossom & sometimes yr the stem

 

Prodigal son, when I see you in the spring

           You’ll say you’ve never gotten the letters that I send

Prodigal son, I’ll have forgiven everything

I know my love will find you in the end

 

If departure is how you need to live,

This is a farewell but it’s not a requiem

My favorite death scenes are figurative

Sometimes yr the blossom & sometimes yr the stem

 

Prodigal son, when I see you in the spring

You will know a highway in the west to recommend

Prodigal son, I’ll have forgiven everything

I know my love will find you in the end

 

I know what your labor will yield:

The workers of the field will someday be the field

I don’t think that you’re terrible

this parable wasn’t written to condemn

Now the father is the stem and the child is the stem…

 

Like a buried bulb in the garden,

I’ll see you resurrected on a forty-acre plot

Don’t waste your breath now, begging for my pardon:

Every second you are here repays a decade you were not.