The prodigal son
John Clare Stokes
The cedar tree i climbed to run away
Looking down on the kitchen window
Watching mamma baking oatmeal cookies
The aroma rising visibly above me
now looms tall over my memory
The sticky boughs fully obscuring
a little run away prodigal son
Determined to live in a Cedar tree.
Mamma cooled the batch on the sill
As far above the prodigal groaned
In the evening air a hungry chill
Oh for the oatmeal cookies of home!
The once comfortable cedar limb
Pricked and panged upon the boy
As slowly he began to descend
Determined come morning...
to run away then.
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