A "Cowhand" Church

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
One of my favorites

Submitted: February 05, 2007

A A A | A A A

Submitted: February 05, 2007



A "Cowhand" Church

His eyes search over, the vastness of the plains.

Eyes far off thunder heads, looking like rain.

Most considered him, a dried, mean man.

At least all those, who didn’t understand.

He had no “truck”, for those in town.

He was too bashful, for the ladies in gowns.

They all frowned, their church, he ne’er attends.

They didn’t know, he didn’t need that building,

When his love, he wanted to send.

He had his church, in the land that he belonged.

The mountains, the spires. Nature furnished the song.

The back of his “hoss”, he sat his pew.

The coming of the sun, his soul renewed.

As far as the pulpit, God made his own.

From the depth of the valleys,

To the mighty pines grown.

His Baptismal bath, was made at the fordes,

When he crossed the rivers,

He thought of the Lord.

A prayer said, as he made his way.

If the Good Lord wanted, to take this day.

The gun on his hip, wasn’t for man.

For the serpent not only worked,

Where God’s building stands.

The lightning grew closer, cattle began to bawl.

Placing his hat on his head.

He thanked Him for it all.

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