Francis the Foolish felt little filial fondness for his flawless, fastidious father, Ferdinand the Fourth. Following one February fortnight, Francis, feeling footloose and frisky, forced and finagled his fond father to fork over five hundred and forty-five farthings, then fled his father's fertile fief.
Fleeing to foreign fields, Francis finally frittered and philandered away his fortune on fancy, frivolous fashion, flirty females and flapper floozies, firkins of foaming ale, freeloading, fickle fun-loving friends, and feasting on fast-food and funky, forte music.
Fleeced by those fiendish fellows of the fleshpots, and facing fateful failure and famine, Francis finally found himself flinging foul feed to the swine in a filthy farmyard as a forlorn farmhand. Footsore and famished, he fain would have filled his flaccid frame with filched food, but found it fit for only a footman. 'Fie!' flared frail Francis, 'My father's flunkies fare far finer.' Fortunately, the frazzled fugitive finally faced the facts. Frustrated from failure, frightened, and fulfilled foreboding, he forthwith from his flophouse, fled his ill fluke to his far-away family.
Forging forthwith, he fell fatigued at his father's feet. Francis feebly phrased his feelings: 'Father,' he fumbled, 'My fetish behaviour ' I've fuddled and flunked ' and fruitlessly forfeited family favour . . . forgive me.'
The far-sighted father kissed Francis' forehead. And forestalling future family fissures, flagged his flunkies in a flurry. 'Fetch fatlings from the flock and fix a four-fold feast for Francis. Forthwith! Fall to! Faster!'
The first-born, Frederick the Feculent, Francis' feisty, faultfinding, flabby brother, frugal and factious with a facade, frowned upon his father's forgiveness of Francis' former foolish folderol. 'That fathead! A fornicator! Flog this flounder and foe!' he fulminated and fumed. This fly-by-night has fretted and free-wheeled away our family finances!'
But the faithful father felt that Francis' former foibles should be freely forgiven. 'Filial fidelity is what fathers are for, Frederick,' said Ferdinand with feelings flowing. 'Forsooth, the fugitive is found, so what forbids festivity? Fly the flags freely, amid flowers, fifes, flutes, fiddles and fanfare . . . FLING A FEAST!!'
Flustered Francis, face flushed, foreswore frippery forever more by forcing his fetid frame into the friar's frock.
This converted parable, not a fairy tale or fable of any sorts, encourages you, me, foibles and fugitives alike, to forsake freely the festivities that flow with fiddle-dee flowers flirting the fiddlestick mind. The Father is forever seeking those who flounder and are forlorn, who desire forgiveness and a face-lift. He freely forgives those who see their own failures ' He gives fixity! The Father is not a figment formed in some feeble mental faculty. Furthermore, this Friend is a real fortress, unfluctuating ' a fulcrum and fresh fountain, taking us at face value as He did our friend, the Prodigal Son.
(Adapted and paraphrased on The Parable of the Lost Son ' Luke 15:11-31).