Stuff About Things
DAY-DREAMIN' AT THU DESK
Dear Lord, it's my conscience that hurtin'
And keepin' me 'way from my work;
There's somethin' keeps pullin' and tuggin'
It's not that I'm wantin' to shirk.
Out there in the distance, those mountains,
Where time was my own — yesterday —
I sat on the rim of a canyon
While nature was havin' her say.
What a sermon! If you could 'a heard it —
Beg pardon, I reckon you did:
Like a teacher a-checkin' his pupil
And smilin' at all that was said.
It was fine Lord, the way the trees praised you
As you played through the leaves with your wind;
And the waterfall, far down below me
Kept thunderin' a mighty, "Amen!"
With shadows, as sextons in purple
A-leadin' the day toward the past,
I climbed down to culture and progress
Like a church-member, back-slidin' fast.
And here in the city's wild clutter
With convention my low-vaulted dome;
In the hush of a moment I hear you
A-callin' your prodigal home.
Aug. 13, 1947