Mortal life, is our Preparation School,
With experiences, to 'learn, and handle,'
Making choices, Wisely, not as a Fool,
Singing our Praises, with Lighted Candle.
'Hallelujah,' that is.
Year of Accountability
By Arley Steinhour 062912 (mod 062916)
My first yearin Age of 'Accountability,'
Went topsy-turvy, one fine day,
My broad back proved it's ability,
To work, as a board, on back, did play.
The corn was over three feet tall,
And the weeds were gaining, fast'
Cultivator, would not good at all,
Sharpened hoe, tool of days long past.
'Cut the weed, clean from the ground,
Don't touch the corn with hoe, sharp bladed,
Or, with board, many strikes did abound,
Pain, Sweat, and Tears, not Satiated.
I clipped a corn root, and heard board come,
Ker-wack, on back, loudly, applied,
The first delivered, of more than 'some,'
Through tears and pain, my childhood died.
Though, I was twelve, I'd be on the run,
Told little brother, then age ten,
After gone to bed, Run away, before sun,
I Wasn't sure where, just knew when.
He decided, to run with me,
Wisdom-less, I allowed him in my run,
Some food, and water, and we were free,
Not worried, with our Red Rider B-B gun.
We found out how far six miles can be,
In dark of night, on gravel lane,
Setting foot on highway Eighty three,
Hitched a ride, that quelled the foot pain.
Knowing where, our mother might live,
Driver dropped us at the door,
Hoping, much love, she would give,
Her response, put our hearts on the floor.
Mom would have much hell to pay,
With the law, concerning what we did,
Should she be harboring a run-away,
Lock her up, though we be her kid.
The rest of the night, in city jail,
Isolated from the adults, in 'woman's cell,'
Waiting for date at Judges rail,
To see if it's heaven, or mortal hell.
Brother said I made him go,
I should have known, he would,
So, at me all the anger did flow,
Using Psychology, this time, not wood.
Grandma loosed on me, her well known rage,
She let me know her Anger, and the 'Score,'
As I came, I'd leave, naked in that gauge,
(My body esteem, age twelve, was poor).
I wouldn't take off that which fit snugly,
So, my favorite shirt was ripped from my back,
The rest of my clothing ended, just as ugly,
Triping to door prompted by rod, no slack.
Jesus came to my rescue, that day,
As my Grandpa ran through the door,
He'd been called, eight blocks away,
Saved me, from naked, street, and more.
That day, set the pace for my life,
Until High School graduation,
Prepared to handle all kinds of strife,
On friendly terms with her, by serving our nation.
I couldn't hate my Grandmother,
She was only doing her best,
Her three, then, we three, plus another,
Short of her anger, passed the 'Saintly Test.'
Thank you, Father God, for your guiding light,
I know you're with me, be it day, or night.
The Trodden path, you've laid out for me,
Welcomes me Home, as Member, of Your Family.