My Borrowing Son Poem by Randy McClave

When I had money to give or to send
I became my sons very best friend,
He called and he visited me all of the time
Which cost me every bill, quarter and dime,
When he'd come over we would always go out to eat
Which of course was always my treat,
He would always ask for money without guilt to permit
Then he would always say, that he's good for it.
He would borrow and borrow promising to pay me back
Substance and verity, his promises did lack,
When he needed new furniture and clothes, of course I paid
But, when I needed help and compassion, I prayed.
From decades at work I did finally and happily retire
I thought that I could do whatever I wished or did desire,
My son was grown and I thought no more worries or regret
I was finally financially secure, and not in debt.
Financially and spirituality I was always there for him
I would had gave him my organ or even a limb,
Now I look in my wallet and about me and I feel poor;
Now my son doesn't talk to me, or vist me anymore.

Randy L. McClave