THAT PESKY TICK

I

Lord, you know I seldom question you,
And try to live each day in your grace;
But there's one thing I just can't understand-
I just can't find a reason anyplace.
I can understand why you made the alligator-
Even why you made cockleburs grow so thick,
But, Lord, whatever possessed you
To make that pesky, aggravating, rotten, stinking tick?


II

The little booger will start to crawl
When I'm in the public eye,
And begin to irritate me so,
I just wish that I could die.
He'll stop his crawling and sit down
In the most unreachable place,
And there his bite will sting me so,
I fidget in disgrace.

III

And so I ask you, "Please, dear Lord,
Won't you please just clue me in?
Was it for something our age has done?
Or was it for Adam's sin?
And we humbly ask you now, dear Lord,
Please give us the answer quick,
Of how we can possibly rid ourselves
Of this pesky, aggravating, rotten, stinking tick?

By: Darrel L. Heath, "Papa 'D'"
21 March 1996
Copyright © 1996 by Darrel L. Heath
Web Entry: October 21, 1999
 

THE PRUNE

A funny little dark-colored fruit,
Is called the wrinkled-up prune;
Eat it fresh, enjoy it cold, or stew it,
Morning, evening, night or noon.

Some people don't care for them at all,
But, there is juice you can drink;
In summer, winter, spring or fall,
I wonder...ever seen prune juice...pink?

Personally, I think prunes taste quite good,
And the juice slides down real easy;
If sitting on a chair, or, on the floor I stood,
Never tried them though, if feeling queezy.

So, try this funny looking prune,
All wrinkled, shriveled, and looking old;
In the day time, or by light of the moon,
If the weather is hot or cold.

See how good you will feel,
After eating a wrinkled-up prune;
From the top of your head to your heel,
You may enjoy it...try it soon.

Written By: Leona I. Miller from California
Copyright © 2003 Leona I. Miller
Web Entry: March 26, 2003


 

MY DAD'S OLD HAT

There are many Memories in my childhood,
Those tender young years now gone-by;
A home where love was freely given,
How quickly those years did fly!

A favorite Memory is of my great Dad,
He would lovingly tease my dear Mother;
He would toss his hat in the back door,
If it came back outside
He believed it was "safe" to enter in;
My Mother was a quiet, tender, gentle lady,
Dad always told her where he'd go or where he'd been.

My Dad was a farmer and worked hard,
The old hat he wore was not pretty;
There was a "hook" where his hat would hang,
To many my Memories may seem a "pity".

When I was a child, I remember so well,
I wanted to throw away that old hat;
My Dad said it was comfortable and fit good,
I once sat on it and made it flat.

Dad worked on it and got the wrinkles out,
His hat never looked good after that;
Dad wore it each day on the farm anyway,
I'm pleased for Memories of my Dad's old hat.

Written By: Leona I. Miller from California
Copyright ©July 19, 2003 Leona I Miller
Web Entry: July 30, 2003
 

AN OLD CAR

I went to get groceries the other day,
A rickety old car passed me by;
For this driver
The way he drove, I thought he should fly.

It appeared he used some baling wire,
The car door almost flew open wide;
The car rattled and I saw the flat tire,
Quite a ride for the driver inside.

It looked like the car had been in a wreck,
Or one that was about to happen;
The jumps and bumps startled his neck,
The windows were bouncing and flappin'.

He had to stop for a traffic light,
The rickety car snorted and coughed;
This mans life seemed happy and bright,
The steering wheel cover looked soft.

The light changed and we went on,
This car sputtered and jerked awhile;
Then away he went and soon was gone,
He waved to me and flashed a smile.

This rickety old car traveled fast,
I may never see it nor the driver again;
Older things sometimes forever last,
I believed, this day, I met a new friend.

Written By: Leona I. Miller from California
Copyright ©Oct. 30, 2003 Leona I. Miller
Web Entry: 11-04-2003
 

HAPPY BIRTHDAY JIM

It was July 24, 1937 and the world was in a mess
When a bundle came from heaven, sent to comfort and to bless
But a rumor started spreading, through the land and cross the sea
For this precious little bundle, bouncing on his mothers knee.

What a shock to all the nurses and doctors thought it a curse
And the Axis power began to think that this could mean the worst
Could it be a secret weapon, could it be an allied plan
Or would this strange little lad really grow, someday to be a man.

Well the doctors had a conference and the nurses did the same
While the parents tried their best to give the little thing a name
And throughout those first few days of questions and surprise
No one gave a thought to looking close into the baby's eyes.

If they had of course then they'd have known that something was amiss
In fact if they'd have known the truth, they'd have given him a kiss
For you see the day the child was born, the lighting was bad
And a poor nurse had been all wrong in diapering the lad.

But alas, a new nurse happened by and noticed quite by chance
The little boys knees sticking out of his sleeves and his head stuck
down in his pants
Well she picked him up and all at once he grinned from ear to ear
And of course he laid to rest for good, the questions and the fear.

Then his parents took him home at last, this little lad
Jim was the name they gave to him, now everyone was glad
And although he still from time to time gets turned around you see
He's become a friend to all of us, in fact he's quite a friend to you
and me.

We all got to know him, when to our church he came
He brings a bright light to our lives, things will never be the same
He's really been an asset to all who know him and we've had some fun
along the way
Not on you birthday, to you we would like to say.

Although your from the horse and buggy days, Jim is still quite a hit
It's that lady that you live with that gives us all a fit
For since your birth as we all know great progress has been made
And brother Jim now drives a rig without a horse's aid.

We would all like to rejoice with you on this your special day
And we're glad you've come to Henderson, we hope you've come to stay
So Happy Birthday Jim, God bless you near and far
And may I say, you sure don't look twenty times older than my car.

Written by: Jim Clawson from Henderson, Nevada
Copyright © 1999 by Jim Clawson
Web Entry: October 21, 1999
 

ACHIN' BONES

It's tough to start getting old,
Throughout your life, things come and go,
But the one thing that comes and stays,
Are them achin' bones that hurt us for days.

Yes, achin' bones changes your life.
No sudden movements, no restful sleep,
Tubes of ointment are frequently used,
To gain that slight edge of relief.

Some folks have arthritis bones,
Some folks have rheumatism bones,
My Mother says she has "holey" bones,
But all it is is "old folks" achin' bones.

Achin' bones, oh, achin' bones,
These bones make you cry and sing!
The lord blessed me with many things,
But why them achin' bones.

Written by: Bill Flemming
Copyright © 1999 by Bill Flemming
Web Entry: October 21, 1999
 

"ODE TO A DEER HUNTER"

Does it make any sense at all to you,
What a man who is seemingly sane will do?
Who sit in a tree stand and shiver and freeze,
While with watery eyes, he a deer tries to see?
Furthermore, he'll get out of a warm bed at three
And promptly disturb the whole family's sleep.
Then he ties up his dogs and throws out the cat;
He loses his shells and can't find his hat.

And many days before the season got here,
He'd started acting and talking quite queer;
He'd read all the hunting books he could find;
You'd swear he'd practically lost all of his mind.
He'd stocked up on all those smelly old lures
(All of those scents are supposed to be pure.)
And out in the woods he'd spent many days
Looking for feeding places, rubs, and scrapes.

He'd checked out his old pickup now and again
Making sure the new starter was still kickin' in.
He'd counted his shells and cleaned his new gun;
And blacked the sight against the glare of the sun.
He'd checked his bright orange and oiled his new boots;
Then he said, "This hunter is ready to scoot!"
And as we all wonder, "Why all the bother?"
The answer: "Inherited from a deer hunting father!"

But, I believe it goes much deeper than that;
There's much more to hunting than guns, boots and hat.
All that paraphernalia is a cover-up game
To hide the real reason he'll brave freezing rain.
He simply loves the outdoors the good God created;
The glorious fall colors leave him all elated.
He'll brave the swaps and the mud and never be bored,
Because it all rings him closer to Jesus, the Lord!



Written by: DARREL L. HEATH, AKA "PAPA 'D' ", 11/26/97
Copyright © 1999 by DARREL L. HEATH
Web Entry: October 28, 1999


 

Return to:

Bizytex Links