May, 1979

Out there in the distance, those mountains,
Where time was my own — yesterday —
I sat on the rim of a canyon
While nature was havin' her say.

What a sermon! If you could 'a heard it —
Beg pardon, I reckon you did:                  
Like a teacher a-checkin' his pupil          
And smilin' at all that was said.

It was fine Lord, the way the trees praised you
As you played through the leaves with your wind;
And the waterfall, far down below me
Kept thunderin' a mighty, "Amen!"     

With shadows, as sextons in purple
A-leadin' the day toward the past,
I climbed down to culture and progress
Like a church-member, back-slidin' fast. 

And here in the city's wild clutter
With convention my low-vaulted dome;       
In the hush of a moment I hear you
A-callin' your prodigal home.

       Robert F. Turner -- Aug. 13, 1947

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