A Saint - Poem by Randy McClave
My father wouldn't talk to my own brother
And then he was mad at my own mother
So for that I preached, and I prayed and I cried
Now through wonders they are at each others side
So now this sounds odd and probably quaint
But if I perform another miracle will I be a saint.
If a Pope performs a miracle he becomes a saint
That is what I read and heard and I think its quaint
But not one miracle, he must perform two
I guess if the first was falsify then the second one will do
But what is a miracle this if I need to ask
Is it a cat that talks or a dog that laughs,
Isn't it a Miracle when a child is born
And Isn't it a miracle when a sinner loves the Lord
Or is it a miracle when someone is cured of the flu
And I wander if that one miracle, would really do.
Also you must be pure and you must be Kind
Then be virtuous, prudent and devout all the time.
So if I forgive my wife the adulterous and the whore,
Whom in Scotland was known to be at all mans door,
If I forgive the sins she committed against others and me
Also with the lying and the using and the hate I did see,
And the whoring she did here behind my back
With integrity and soul and compassion she did lack
If I could cover all her evils with a coat of black paint
I mean if there was that much paint, would I be a saint.
As I been told hat would be a miracle true and true
Taking the sin out of a heart that was never loyal or true,
Taking the cheating out of a heart that's born to cheat
Be like stopping the blood from that heart that beats,
So through the grace of GOD and compassion of man
I think whole heartily that will be my life's plan
Forgive her of sins she committed against me and others
So the sins wont befall upon her daughters or even her mother
So as I say I forgive her, I feel as though I might faint
But If I perform this miracle, I know I will be a Saint.
Randy L. McClave
Comments about A Saint by Randy McClave
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You