The Good Samaritan Poem by Richard Burke

The Ghost of Christmas-Yet-To-Come
Stood by my bed last night,
His face so menacing and glum,
I recoiled at the sight.
Begad, is this some scary dream,
Brought on by too much drink?
So real can some illusions seem,
It's hard to clearly think.

I am no dream, said Yet-To-Come,
Tho' you may wish it so.
And I'm not here thru scotch or rum,
Nor by some foul wind-blow,
But to bring words of our Savior,
To warn men fore' too late,
Lest' you love and help your neighbor,
Hell's fire will be your fate!

These words were sobering to me,
But left me more perplexed.
Whoever can that neighbor be,
Is he in gospel text?
Recall you the Samaritan!
His words cut like a knife,
It is not one, but every man,
You find in need or strife!

Pray help me Ghost to understand,
That was so long ago,
And happened in a distant land,
Outside of Jericho.
Samaritans were needed there,
But less so in our land.
Should strangers need support or care,
We've church and state at hand.

With eyes that flashed and lips that curled,
The Ghost now seemed aghast.
Can you not see in this day's world,
Reflections of its past?
It's clear you need a parable,
That's suited to your day.
One that's more comparable,
So, hear well what I say!

There was a little country town,
Along a babbling stream.
And folks who came from all around,
Described it as a dream.
With picket fences painted white,
The church's steeple tall,
Just being there a true delight,
In winter, spring or fall.

But on one summer afternoon,
Hard rain began to fall -
The stream was overwhelmed and soon,
There came a desperate call:
"Raging waters have jumped their banks,
And threaten one and all! "

Where could they turn in time of need?
Their Parson came to mind.
Through prayer may heaven intercede,
If God be so inclined.
But Parson Brown presumed to speak,
For God, Himself, on high:
There'll be no turning back the creek,
Your prayers God will deny.
For I can divine His meanings,
And you have raised His ire.
It's all your liberal leanings,
That brought you flood and fire!

The townsfolk saw no sense in this,
And fled to City Hall.
Their plight the Mayor can't dismiss,
He needs their votes next fall.
"I plan to help you my dear friend,
There's nothing you will lack.
But what you're asking me to spend,
Throws budgets out-of- whack.
And surely all can plainly see,
That others have had worse.
It's not a real catastrophe,
So, funds I can't disperse.''

The townsfolk now seemed left to fate,
And wondered what to do.
Forsaken by both church and state,
The life they knew was through.
Just then a pick-up truck arrived,
With fishing skiff in tow.
Their hopes and spirits soon revived,
All bid farewell to woe!

That pick-up came from out-of-state,
No one had known the man.
Turns out he was the first of eight,
That came by caravan.
Then day-to-day more pick-ups came,
With tools and goods and men.
And every worker had one aim:
To do the work of ten!

And so, the town returned to life,
For this all offered thanks.
The waters that had caused such strife,
Were back within their banks.
And strangers' trips had now begun,
To homes some other place,
Not seeking more for what they'd done,
Then smiles upon a face.

Samaritan or Church or State,
Which proved the friend in need?
I did not have to contemplate,
Who could not but concede.
The charge the Ghost then gave to me,
Is easy to surmise:
If Good Samaritan you'd be,
Go you and do likewise!