I found the one I can’t forgive,
But I’ve known him all my life.

Father always says,
“Don’t stray far from me.”
He warns him of the dark places,
But he’ll muddy his feet anyway.
When he returns, he’s a grubby child,
Crying out in tears for his pain.
Father stoops low and takes his feet gently in his hands.
From His breast pocket He produces a bright red kerchief,
And wipes the mud away.
Cleansing the kerchief in a bucket of pure water,
That never gets dirty.
He then tenderly addresses each scratch and scrape in turn,
Dipping His still bright red kerchief in the water,
He touches the wounds on the sole,
And the pain abates in a moment.

I’ve seen this countless times,
Why doesn’t Father just leave him in the dark?
Much less than that,
Why does Father forgive him?
I’ll never understand,
Because I know that child better,
than anyone else.
He’s me.