A Preacher Wanders
Waiting for the sermon to begin
What might I have to say?
Sunday morning coming down
The people gather to pray
Twenty years in the pulpit
And I still get nervous as hell
Why do they come to listen?
For some, not all is well
I dread the Sunday morning
When my words are all gone
And I open my mouth to preach
And my mind doesn’t turn on
Will they sit in silence
When my words run out?
What if I lost my thoughts
And the deacons began to shout?
But today the words kept coming
And the people smiled and prayed
A candle spilled wax on the cloth
Just another rogue Sunday
2010 © Dayvid Graybill