THE SERMON OF SAINT BEN
A Poem of Speaking Through Deeds
There is a man in our town
We just call him Ben.
He never had many schools,
He was just a clerk
In a bank.
He comes to church
In an old truck full of
Topsoil, sod, shovel, and rake.
He brings lemon-aid and
A peanut butter sandwich.
He comes after work
Or on Saturday
Alone
When no one is there-
Then spends hours
In devotion on his knees
Pulling weeds and planting bulbs,
Putting stuff in the dirt
To make the flowers grow.
He sews seeds, trims bushes,
And prunes the shade trees.
The pastor will never preach
As beautiful a sermon
As the one spoken
Through the church garden.
(c) Adron 4/2/15A Poem of Speaking Through Deeds
There is a man in our town
We just call him Ben.
He never had many schools,
He was just a clerk
In a bank.
He comes to church
In an old truck full of
Topsoil, sod, shovel, and rake.
He brings lemon-aid and
A peanut butter sandwich.
He comes after work
Or on Saturday
Alone
When no one is there-
Then spends hours
In devotion on his knees
Pulling weeds and planting bulbs,
Putting stuff in the dirt
To make the flowers grow.
He sews seeds, trims bushes,
And prunes the shade trees.
The pastor will never preach
As beautiful a sermon
As the one spoken
Through the church garden.
