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CROSS OF A POET A thump, thump towards the altar, bounced the old man's wooden cane. Up the steps he hobbled to the pulpit, as the old man winced in pain. In tattered pants with a wrinkled shirt, and his outdated suit and tie, The old man stood before the crowd, and wiped a teardrop from each eye. "As we gather in this big old church, for this funeral of our dear friend, I'll try not to bore you with my poem, if God lets me read it to the end." He recited words, line after line, often quoting the peaceful-resting man. Not necessarily in biblical terms, he used words of 'ass' and 'hell' and 'damn.' The poem recalled the fun in their lives and a few of the 'sins' they shared. Of their trials and tribulations, and crosses together they once beared. The old man spoke of that final time, he shoke his friend's departing hand. How his friend's couragous faith and repentance made them each a better man. As the old poet walked away, heavy hearts seemed more enlightened. A morning that began so dreary, spirits now appeared more brightened. In the basement at the luncheon, the old man was told that he was rude. Talking like that in the house of God, reflected his 'attitude so crude'. "Excuse me sir," he said, "Today, God's house is full of many sinners. Because we both have known our friend, God declares both of us winners." "The Lord recognizes every sin, in fact forgives each of them one by one. Sir, condemn who you wish, I'm judged only by God and His begotten son." "I too am ready to meet my maker, in that Heavenly promised place. Hope I'm there to see God greet you, as He wipes that smirk off your face." Was it his cane, his words or humbled spirit, that jolted my heart today? A thump, thump I heard again, as a wise old poet rose to drift away. |
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