Now God, I ain't no prayin' man,
guess I git by the best I can,
But Tildy, God, she's got real sick
and doc sez she could go right quick,
O, God! he sez she might could die!
my Tildy-gal, my honey-pie!
Our only child, our young son Ben,
the day he died, she took ill then,
Thet bear wuz huge! I shot a round,
but even with my trusty hound,
Thet monster chonked on young Ben's head
an' jest like thet, my boy wuz dead!
Then Tildy took ta grievin' so,
she turned ta stone, she got so low,
She couldn't sleep, she couldn't speak,
she couldn't eat ~ she got so weak
She couldn't budge thet rockin' chair,
all's she could do wuz slump an' stare.
God, I don't claim ta know Yore ways,
but I got skeered an' prayed fer days
Thet Yew might resurrect my boy,
give back my wife, restore her joy,
A second chance ta start agin,
jest like Yew did fer Lazarus' kin.
It got so folks'd all steer clear
when they eyed me, they'd disappear!
They'd call me daft, tetched in the head,
they'd tell me thet my son wuz dead,
They'd say, "Ben's gone! Git on with life!"
then ask after my ailin' wife.
My Tildy-gal, light on her feet,
the purtiest gal yew'd hope ta meet,
My Tildy, sweet an' sassy, she,
(broke grown men's hearts when she picked me!)
My Tildy, with the laughin' eyes,
God, I won't make it if she dies.
She's all I got, all I hold dear,
so God, could Yew see Yore way clear:
If Tildy's days are over, then
I'd reckon it a favor ~ when
Yew tote my Tildy home with Yew...
could Yew cum back an' fetch me, too?
~ Connie ~
maketh the heart sick."
(Proverbs 13:12 KJV)
[ by: Connie Hinnen Cook Copyright © 2006 (firstname.lastname@example.org) -- from Connie Hinnen Cook ]
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