Today in church I spoke with a prayed for a lonely father who yearns for his son, whom he misses very much. He hasn't seen his child for several years...
The boy is now six. His father has at least twenty more years to do on his sentence before he's eligible for parole. He was pleading for prayer. So he and I bowed our heads and closed our eyes as I petitioned heaven in behalf of this man and his child. However, my time with this despondent dad reminded me of a poem I'd written many years ago titled, Goodnight, My Son.
Therefore, after church, I made it my business to look for the poem. I found it buried with a pile of papers that where in a plastic storage bin beneath my bunk. I think the last poem best expresses the feelings any incarcerated parent would have for his or her child. God willing, tomorrow I will include it as a part of my journal.
D.B.
Therefore, after church, I made it my business to look for the poem. I found it buried with a pile of papers that where in a plastic storage bin beneath my bunk. I think the last poem best expresses the feelings any incarcerated parent would have for his or her child. God willing, tomorrow I will include it as a part of my journal.
D.B.
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