CRY OF THE STRAY
My Maker didn't mean for me to be this way,
swept along in by currents of the street.
My Maker didn't mean for me to do or say -
things I sometimes do, or words I speak.
Don't know when it started; can't remember anymore.
Didn't start by plan or by intent.
Somehow I got caught in it, like a prisoner of war,
who somewhere lost the choice of free consent.
It must have been in weariness or trance.
Was it just confusion, or deceit ?
I must have shunned decision, and left it all to chance,
and forgot the road to hell's a busy street.
My Maker didn't give this life to me,
to squander, or to gamble it away.
I cannot excuse it, but you know it's hard to see
the road-signs on a dark and dreary day.
Now I've got to right the wrongs I've done;
turn my life around; try to atone,
and trust the Love that welcomed the Prodigal Son,
will welcome another wanderer back Home.
I'm weary, and I know I've lost my way.
I feel ashamed and sad in heart and mind.
I hear a Voice that's calling me today,
like the one who strayed from the ninety-and-the-nine;
like the Love that forgave the weary Prodigal Son,
welcoming another wanderer back Home.
( Free Use-Public Domain-"Future Folk"Music-Betty J. Curtis-2002 )