When i was a boy Mother insisted i attend Sunday School and Church
though she never once stepped through the door.
i occupied a pew beside my sisters, and thought about baseball, rocks, golf, fishing,
and just about anything else
but our Lord and Savior.
one fine morn there was a special feature—a woman came from afar to play
on her harp for all to hear.
wait a minute, i thought. Harp is a light Irish beer, and i'd much rather have
a cold glass of it right now than her
and that danged harp.
. . . j