God Said Glory Be
God Said Glory Be
Why do everything I always try to rhyme
And not only that, it is all the time;
When I first get up and eyes open wide
In my big brain, I saw a poem inside.
My poor poems have nothing to hide;
Are in me all going along for the ride
Waiting for chance to be written down;
Called Horn Corncob Humor all over town.
What my exquisite poems need is an escort
By a Pilot reporter who writes at State Port
And after a while he or she will realize
If in Pilot may win a Pulitzer Peace Prize.
So to all the facts I have become resigned
One more poem just pooped into my mind;
Do you know what someone has told me?
God said, "Your poems are great and glory be."
James Thomas Horn, Retired Veteran
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