Eye of the Needle

Assured in her beliefs, My Grandma knew the score: Not many folk would get to Heaven; The following would be ignored. A black man, Jew, Italian, Catholic, Greek, or Slav, Misguided Presbyterian, Adolescent plotting Love. The Poor, because they should have saved, The Rich who had too much, The Drunkard for his need, The Cripple for his crutch. Soda jerks (that's bottled drink) Beauticians? Vanity. A neighbor Boy once sat with me Beneath the willow tree. All these she held apart, In Scripture being able Secure in righteousness to find For diversity a label. For In-laws she had Charity, A level Christian measure, Sufficient thus to demonstrate Duty over Pleasure. Of children, there were three, (Increase will prevail) Precisely formed and tolerated, Though indeed one was a Male! This identical deficiency Was incumbent on her Spouse. (Something like an in-law Only always in the house.) I'd have liked, Grandma, to see you greet The missionaried Heathen Whose Souls the eggs were sold to save. Just who is let into your Heaven? So cleverly you read the text, So sweet you sang the song. I love you, Grandma, you tried so hard And got everything so wrong!