PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

[for the Reverend Bill Robertson]

Week-nights, we take the country backroads from our little church.
We drink a lot of fresh iced tea, and eat a lot of perch.
We preach the Gospel to those folks until they have their fill.
What fun we have in Jesus' name there:  me, and Preacher Bill.

Now Preacher Bill is small of stature, not much to behold.
And me?---so ugly I can make a furnace go plumb cold.
But Jesus Christ can use all kinds to work His Holy Will.
And "all kinds" is just what He found---in me, and Preacher Bill.

The fancy pastors never venture out into the sticks.
They do not care to preach to barefoot girls or local hicks.
They stay in highbrow churches that appreciate thin swill.
That leaves those pearls of greatest price to me, and Preacher Bill.

We see a lot of miracles occur along our way.
(And once, a big dog knelt right down with folded paws, to pray!)
But best of all, we see the faith that Jesus can instill,
and that has kept us at the harvest---me, and Preacher Bill.

The universe is winding down and morals fall apart.
Mankind is rolling in a hog-pen, and the human heart
is choked almost to death by sins that give the flesh a thrill.
The day is spent, the night draws near.  But me, and Preacher Bill

keep working, like two crazy men who have no time to spare.
(Christ's Kingdom is ahead for us, and we will rest up there.)
Soul-winning is the job we love, and we will work until

the Lord sends down that starward call . . . for me . . .

                                                                                     and Preacher Bill.

Starward

[*/+/^] 

[jlc]