On the top of old Mount Baker
stood a bald and bearded Quaker.
Prayed to God and stated loudly
and with arrogance quite proudly
that your prayer reaches Heaven
usually before eleven,
that's when God has his Wild Turkey
to wash down Oberto's Jerky.
If you want, the Quaker stated
that your prayer is debated
by the gods without postponement
showing clearly your atonement
it is best to climb a mountain,
which can be a trusted fountain,
plus, a bonus if the timing
has been right and all your climbing
means you really jump the queue,
says the Quaker: Lucky you.
Herbert I adore this poem. It the best thing of yours I have seen. The rhymes are great and strong voice of certain faith resounding here a joy to listen to.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Another wonderful poem by the great Herbert Nehrlich! I love the way you tell a story with such precise rhyme and rhythm! Loved it! Sincerely, Mary