That's A Good Idea! Poem by James Walter Orr

I once had an idea way back in time
And it festered for days in my mind.
I planned it so it was nearly a crime,
But I never was known to be kind.

Old lady Johnson, who served Mom and Dad,
Chose each Sunday morn for her baking.
Her cinnamon rolls, the best I had had;
I thought they were there for the taking.

She lived in the house in back of our own,
And while at church my mom and dad prayed,
She’d walk this path, as was very well known,
That went right past the tree where I played.

My idea was simple. I took a wire,
And I tied the one end to a tree,
Out where the goats had not eaten this brier,
Behind which I could stand up and see.

She came up the path like I knew she would,
With the cinnamon rolls on a plate.
They were for guests, as I well understood.
She walked quickly so she‘d not be late.

When she arrived, I would tighten the strand,
And when she tripped and on her face fell,
I’d have the rolls hidden, ’fore she could land,
And come help her when I heard her yell.

Everything great, not a thing out of whack,
As I bent down to pull the wire tight,
When I was hit by a train on the track,
And I saw every color of light.

Thrown through the air as if shot from a gun,
I ricocheted off of a big tree.
I struck that oak with a force that would stun,
And the hide was torn off of my knee.

When I bent over to pull the wire tight,
To our billy I’d offered my rear.
He struck with all of his billy goat might
And instilled my perpetual fear.

Now when an idea appears in my mind,
Which we know is not overly bright,
I run for a place where no one will find
Me, for friend, I have now seen the light.

Ideas are the root; the source of my fear,
And the cause of my terrified screams.
They have constructed my nightmare’s domain,
And the land of my horrible dreams.