Old Pastor Dave
We went to church that Sunday, and like every week before
The preacher stood a’ waiting at the chapel door
He nodded and he shook our hand as we came trooping in
And always on his face he wore that loving, caring grin.
Week after week, year after year we were greeted with that smile
We young ones always chuckled and snickered for a while
The old folks looked real serious and told us to behave
They said we shouldn’t make fun of good old Pastor Dave
Even as he raved and preached about the depths of hell
On we kids it had no effect, at least none you could tell
So each week, up in front of us he did rant and rave
Of how he wanted, really bad, our lost souls to save.
We all liked this preacher even though we scoffed and jeered
We listened to him even though we thought him somewhat weird
We didn’t understand just what it was he said
Somehow we couldn’t get it through our young and playful heads.
He’s been gone for many years but the words he said rings clear
Though we youngsters all grew up, a straight course we did steer
We credit what we have become to that man, grey and old
Who stood before us every week, indeed, he saved our souls
I’m sure that when we finally get on to the other side
There’ll be someone to greet us, someone who really tried
To guide us in the ways that we should travel all the while
He’ll be right there to greet us with that loving, caring smile.
The Wash Lady
This is about my spouse
She washed everything in the house
Into the machine went the clothes
They were all soiled I suppose.
She washed the walls and washed the floors
Washed the ceilings and what’s more
I’m glad I’m wearing my clothes and shoes
Or else she’d try to wash them too.
I was surprised, I’ll tell you that
When she washed the dog and cat
She put them in the sun to dry
They both shrunk to half their size.
She washed the T V screen and then
I sat back and I did grin
It all faded, I thought it might
It went from color to black and white.
She washed the windows out and in
I’ll never see the sky again
I’ll never see the clouds that billow
She washed the windows with a brillo.
Every thing we own is clean
Look and see just what I mean
The pots and pans, the entire house
Has all been polished by my spouse.
I had to leave, I had to go
Because of this, I’ll have you know
Up till now things had been fine
Till she tried to wash my dirty mind.
Rhyme Without Reason
Dad was Bill
But For the Grace
There, but for the grace of God go I
I said, and then I gave a sigh
As the homeless man went wandering by
Why does this happen, Why, ask I
Is this the plan that was made for man?
To live a life from a garbage can?
To beg, to steal whatever they can.
Live like an animal, be less than a man.
They fought in wars, their heads held high
For their country they were willing to die.
But now they are idle, some timid, some shy.
And I have to ask, Lord, why, why, why?
Some are family men, some have known wealth
Some were quite handsome when they had their health.
Most now are unkempt with shaggy beards
I look on them and I shed a tear.
I have it all, my health, my work
A family life I will not shirk
I’m a lucky man, I breathe a sigh
There but for the grace of God go I.
Just a Pile of Logs
Just a pile of logs by the side of the road
Not much of a thing to see
But the way they were cut, the way they were notched
Was really what interested me.
You could tell by the shape and the hewing
It was logs, but something more.
It had been a house at one time
With a family of folks at it’s core.
I asked an elderly gentleman
That lived in a house near the pile,
“What is the story behind those logs,
Have they been there a very long while?”
His face lit up as I asked him,
I could see he was eager to tell
Of the people who had lived there
Many years before the house fell.
He said, “It’s been fifty years now
Since the folks that lived there moved on.
They packed up their twenty-nine Chevy
And all too soon they were gone.”
But he remembered the family
Just like they had been his kin
And how they waved as they drove off,
He’d thought of them often since then.
He’d often played with the children
That lived in that rustic log home
For he was the same age as they were
They were the only friends that he had known.
Many times he had eaten and slept
In that house with his playmates and friends
But the father was called to a good paying job
And good job’s were scarce way back then.
They moved to a town out west somewhere
And they did quite well I am told.
They never came back for a visit,
Me and that house just kept getting old.
Then one day with a clash like the thunder
The house came a tumbling down
And it’s laid there just as you see it
Just a pile of logs on the ground.
As I sit here and let my mind wander
I can still see the house standing there
And me and my friends are still playing,
The old folks on the porch in a chair.
For me that house holds many memories
They’re the building blocks of my life
Both the good and bad I remember
All the happiness and all the strife.
Just a pile of logs to a stranger
Most folks really don’t care
All they see is the huge pile of lumber
And not the beautiful house that was there.
But to him it’s a house standing stately
And he really believes in the end
Round that pile of logs he’ll be playing
Just him and his other small friends.