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Dear prodigal you are my son and I
Supplied you not your spirit but your shape;
All Eden's weath arrayed before your eyes
I fathomed that you wanted to escape.

And though I only ever gave you love,
Like every child you've chosen to rebel;
Uprooted flowers and filled the holes with blood;
Ask for not whom they toll the solemn bells.

But child of dust your mother now returns
For every seed must die before it grows;
And though above the world may toil and turn,
No prying spade will find you here below.

Now safe beneath their wisdom and their feet;
Here i will teach you truly how to sleep

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