POETRY/WRITERS’ PROMPT
The Prodigal Sun
Poetry
He wanders.
No longer traversing straight overhead. Now drifting south, Casting long shadows where there were none.
Squandering the inheritance of long days, Ancestral esteem, And radiant wealth.
He explores other lands, Fickle and selfish. Abandoning those who adore him.
The days grow shorter, Darkness creeps closer. We feel the dread of cold.
We will ardently await his return, Open our arms to the wayward one, And sprint to embrace him.
Forgiven.
In response to a prompt proposed by Sherry McGuinn, for which writers were given the concept of “fickle.” I didn’t actually plan to respond to the prompt, but the word worked perfectly in this poem that came to me as I should have been going to sleep. Thanks, Sherry!
© Tina L. Smith, 2020
About the author: Tina L. Smith is a Michigan writer who has already begun to mourn the ever-shortening days of summer.