Carpenters And Stone Masons Poem by Robert Rorabeck

First off,
I can’t sing, even though
I want to be beautiful for Jesus—
I want to praise him—
From a distance you might say
I am beautiful, but you have not
Lived with me. Just ask my girlfriend.

I want to be the best shot
I can be—
I want to own a new gun—
Polish it ever day,
Morning and night,
Engrave His name on
The holt—

I am a fan of carpenters….
Several good carpenters built
The house I slumber in;
I praise them,
But it will be someone
Altogether different who
Builds my mausoleum—

Who is that laid
Hands on my eternal resting
Place before I even got
There?
A stone mason—
I hope I can shake his hand
Before I get there—
Praise him as well—
And when I die he shall inherit
My loudest, most deadly weapon
And use it to engrave
My name in stone,
In shifting permanence laid on that slab
A marble blanket for my bones….