The Wood Shed
A poem that Curt Bork likes to recite
I remember quite will, when I was a lad,
Oh the times were tough and the crops were bad.
There wasn't much work anywhere to be had,
Nobody to work – just me and my dad.
And my dad – well he was getting along.
He was way past seventy and still pretty strong:
And My mother – well she was gone –
She had joined up with that heavenly throng.
Once all we had left was a poke of flour,
Expecting the bailiff any hour
The past year's taxes had not been paid
And we'd killed and ate the only hen that laid.
And I'd see my Dad go to the old wood shed.
He'd gone there often since Mother was dead.
I was wondering why, and then one day
I peeked in to see, and I heard him pray.
And as I stood by door, I heard my dad say,
"Oh, thank you LORD for this wonderful day:
And for peace and comfort and rest through the night.
Just talkin' to you Lord makes everything right.
Oh, sometimes things get a little rough.
That's why you made these hands so tough.
"But as for me Lord, I don't worry none,
But would you kind of look out for my son?"
"For I know I don't have much longer to stay
And I don't mind, since Ma's gone anyway.
Oh, I've a hankering to join her up there
And that's one reason for this prayer.
For I want my boy to learn to trust you
Like Ma and I would always do.
Of course we've known you these many long years,
And just talking to you, Lord, has dried many tears.
"Right now my boy is almost worried to death,
And the reason is – there isn't much food left.
Oh, it's been this way many times before
And I always come knockin' on your door.
In one way or other you'd answer my prayer,
And I'd always know the food would be there.
I thank you Lord – enough's been said;
I'll be right here tomorrow in the old wood shed."
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