Smugly content with his life and his lot,
though his dreams were consistently thwarted,
ever imagined he's worth what he's not;
perceptions of merits contorted.
'I long for the moment,' cried Danny McPhee,
'When in heaven I reap my reward.'
Ego, so blinding him, he could not see
he must first fix things up with the Lord.
He lived to a fair age of seventy three,
never quite realised his potential.
A not very generous Danny McPhee
barely gave what was really essential.
His brother approached him in financial need;
but Danny rebuked him as slothful,
forgetting his sibling had sown some good seed
and jealousy made Danny wrathful.
'I've dined with the best and raised big bucks for AIDS
but what have you done, my fine brother?
You've not done a tap of work these two decades,
since you stopped helping Dad and our mother'.
Dejected, his poor brother just walked away.
Danny died and next night faced accounting;
'I never knew you!' thus the good Lord did say.
'Pardon, God?' Danny cried, terror mounting.
'When did you give out of love in my name?
When did you give help to a stranger?
Not even your own brother; oh such a shame.
When your own mortal soul was in danger!'
This poet can't sit here being Danny's judge;
but perhaps your life's journey I offer a nudge.
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