Those who sang the blues the best
Were always down at heel
Dressed in shabby suits
Fondling a cheap guitar and bleeding strings
They sang tortured triumph
With gravel and diamonds in their throat
As for me I'm shabby too
My soul has holes
And barely fits
Sometimes it doesn't keep out the cold
I too sing my song
I feel afraid at times
To look the bluesless conquerors in the eye
(The sleek untested babies of our western faith or
Those more valliant than I)
But when I consider who You are,Man of sorrows
And where you take your friends
I allow myself a smile
Which I hope is without pride
For when I am in heaven
With those of noble countenance
I shall meet their glance
Knowing
That the song they sang in full
I sang in part and our joy is one
Wilf 03/1999
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