Our life, is our preparation school,
With experiences to 'handle,'
Making choices, not as a fool,
Not Hoe weeds, Sing 'chorus' by Handel.
'Hallelujah,' that is.
Year of Accountability
By Arley Steinhour 062912
My year of accountability,
Went topsy-turvy, one fine day,
My broad back proved ability,
To work, as board on back did play.
The corn was over three feet tall,
And the weeds were gaining, fast'
Cultivator would be no good at all,
Sharpened hoe, the tool of days long past.
'Cut the weed, clean from the ground,
Don't touch the corn with hoe,
Or board in hand and strikes abound,
On backs, irrigating tears would flow.
I clipped a corn, and heard board come,
Ker-wack, on back, loudly, was 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, but, before the sun,
Weren't sure where, just knew when.
He decided, to run with me,
Wisdom-less, I included him in my run,
Some food, and water, and we were free,
Not worried, with Red Rider B-B guns.
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 did live,
Driver dropped us at the door,
Hoping, much love she'd 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 kids.
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 her well known rage,
She let me know 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 favorite shirt was ripped from my back,
The rest of my clothing was just as ugly,
Trip to door prompted, by rod, no slack.
Jesus came to my rescue, that day,
As Grandpa ran through the door,
He'd been called, eight blocks away,
Saved me, from naked, street, and more.
That set the pace for my life,
Until High School graduation,
Prepared to handle all kinds of strife,
On friendly terms with her, serving our nation.
I couldn't hate my Grandmother,
She was only doing her best,
Her three, we three, and another,
Short of anger, she passed the Saint's Test.
Thank you, Father God, for your guiding light,
I know you're with me, be it day, or night.
The Trodden path, you laid out for me,
Welcomes me Home, Member, of Family.