...

Listen close to this tale I'll tell,

Of a man who once was well,

Wherein whose heart, did the devil dwell,

And from grace he thus fell.

He toiled land to make end's meet,

Long were his days working on his feet,

His harvest never could be beat,

And that, in a country full of farm hands, was no small feat.

Then came men from lands of sin,

Offering pleasures of which he has never seen.

Thus went all his virtues into the bin,

As he turned his back on a life that could have been.

For years he was showered,

With riches untold.

At beggars he glowered,

To his family, he was distant and cold.

"Dada, are you free?"

Asked his son expectantly, wearing a crown.

"No, boy, I'm busy, can't you see?"
Said he, looking up from his tab wearing a frown.

"Can you help our daughter with her prom dress?"

Asked his caring wife gently.

"Don't you think I've enough stress?"

He barked angrily.

Then one day he was taken ill.

He told the doctor to prescribe any pill and

That he would gladly pay any bill,

For his agony to end.

"I'm sorry" came the reply,

This is an illness that no money can cure.

So make peace with the past and cry

For forsaking a life of love so pure.

So, my children, you see,

Don't be like me.

Treasure everyone and everything you love,

And know that I'll be watching you from above.

As for you, my dearest wife,

I'm sorry for all the strife

You've had to endure this life,

And if I could do it all again,

I'll bear all the pain,

You had to go through in vain.