The Lament Of The Prodigal Son Poem by Sergey Dobrenkov

Part of my inheritance I did receive,
Though unworthy was I that gift to conceive;
Younger in mind, and wilful in thought,
I went to a distant land and squandered what I brought.

I wasted my Father's gift in a wanton way;
From Grace I departed, and fell far astray.
Then, passing into spiritual insensibility,
The husks of the swine I desired to share,
Whose keeper I was—yet none would spare;
I longed to eat what they were given,
Yet no man gave me aught, though I was driven.

Thus was my soul perishing, bereft of all answer,
Having lost the dignity of sonship I bore;
Not merely as a hireling, for some wage,
But even as an unworthy slave.

How shall I return, when I have no boldness to plead?
I see how my brethren thy commandments heed;
Their obedience they keep, without blame,
While I have cast away my sonship and name.

O Father, I have sinned; I have gone astray—
Yet behold my repentance, and look on me, I pray.