In January as I think
of Dr. King's sweet dreams,
I pray that peace and brotherhood
won't ravel at the seams.
Come February when I see
young couples that I know,
please use me as a Valentine
to help their love to grow.
And then in March when old St. Patrick's
faith is called to mind,
arouse my will that I might serve
the homeless, bruised and blind.
In April when the rains of spring
awaken winter's sleep,
please let the truth of Eastertime
to help my faith go deep.
When May recalls the men that died
in bloody wars long past,
assure that what they fought to win
will somehow live and last.
In June when school is ended
and vacations have begun
convince me that I need a break,
some leisure and some fun.
And come July when on the Fourth
I praise my Uncle Sam,
please prompt me Lord to give you praise
for living in this land.
When August comes and hurricanes
start threat'ning folks down south,
don't let me gripe about small stuff
or get down in the mouth.
And in September when I get
to rest on Labor Day,
remind me that my work's a gift.
I'd hate to always play.
In dark October when your paintbrush
brightens dying leaves,
please move my heart with wonder
as they dance upon the breeze.
And then in bleak November
when I feast with family,
receive my thanks for all the ways
you prove your love for me.
And in December when I string
the lights and feel you near,
accept my gift of love, dear God,
for what you've done all year.
With Praise For A Reliable Ford
Remembering a model we'll never forget...
He wasn't a Cadillac, Chrysler or Cord.
Our 38th President was only a Ford.
Reliable, steady, as plain as can be
but Gerald, by Golly, had integrity.
He came from a car lot on Capitol Hill
where all makes and models knew Jerry quite well.
He stayed on the highway obeying the speed
not guzzling petrol. His tank had no greed.
His mileage was average. Not bad, though not great.
But Ford was our ride to get past Watergate.
He carried our nation a couple of years
but then came a Jimmy with a clutch and new gears.
Ford lost his momentum and ran out of gas
as Carter gained speed to successfully pass.
And leaving the Beltway, old Gerald went west.
The once Michigander liked Palm Springs the best.
And thirty years later his engine still ran.
The term geriatrics was named for this man.
But vintage old classics can't always go on.
We turn on the news and we learn they have gone.
And that is the case on this St. Stephen's Day.
The angels of Christmas took Gerald away.
But though I am saddened to hear what's transpired,
our nation is stronger by what he inspired.