The White House
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Ok, I must tell I guess, who this poem is about, or I will just say, "Who lives in the WHITE HOUSE? It is a brick house, too, and having been in DC as much as I have, I have seen it red in color many sunsets. Yeh, but you say this is a White Guy? Sure is, in the 4th line of the 1st verse, a fact we overlook, that his MAMA MADE HIM WHITE, just as much, maybe more, as his Daddy made him black. This is poetry at its best, but, sadly, a lot of people read too fast to get the true meaning out of poetry. It is not about Jesus, but if you cannot figure out who it is about by now, I do not know what to say....NO it is not Joe Biden but you are close.
THE WHITE HOUSE
I'll not apologize for being White,
No more than for my always being right.
Just look around and you will see
My life and world as Mama planned to be,
In all our comfort, we are living cozy White.
Our Jesus was a fisher man, you know,
As White as right--it does-- or falling snow
And all of we, are Saved in just His word,
Yea White and Black and Yellow, if you've heard
Confessing ev'ry sin your life will ever know.
My house is brick, and solid, sometimes sunset red,
But in the light of Jesus--all are led
To see it White, because it's firm and strong,
The home where visionairies can belong,
And not a place for idle talk, nor faces blushing red.
Admitting peanut butter's taste is right,
Both Peter Pan and Joe's are always White.
The jelly for our lives comes not from bees
But from the vine of Jesus, or from trees
In giving fruit to anyone who's right.
And so you'll not hear me apologize
For being White and right, as time it flies
But I will have to say, I'm sorry for
The lame of mind, still knocking at the door,
With not enough sense to apologize.
© Ron Wilson aka the Doylestown Poet
Copyright © Vee Bdosa | Year Posted 2013
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