Sharp eyes he had, you say?

Yet I’ll wager

they were filled with tears

many a day.

His heart watched, too, 

for years;

and, busy as he was, he’d stand

filled with a yearning

for that son who’d left

for some far land,

spurning

love, and home—and him;

frantic for fun, debating

all he had learned;

and so, the Father stood

watching,

yearning,

waiting, 

for his son’s returning.

 

Some might pity

his grieving.

Some might scoff.

True,

the Father watched him leaving

but, too,

He saw him coming back “when yet

a great way off.” 

 

Taken by permission and adapted from “Clouds are the Dust of His Feet,” by Ruth Bell Graham. ©1992, The Ruth Bell Graham Literary Trust.