Think me not as destitute,
for I am just a man,
In search of my beginning,
in search of my life's end.
Of daffodils and lilies,
both from the earth are born,
Children frolic in the sun,
while mothers ever mourn.
Think me not as poor and lonely,
as on my way I wend,
Alpha and Omega,
beginning and the end.
As a boy I knew him well,
O' the stories I could tell,
Now I sit in crowded pew,
A life that was, a life's that's through.
Four daughters born before a son,
But in truth, when said and done,
A hundred men could call him dad,
A hundred men today are sad.
Scoutmaster Jake, taught us to camp,
Across the fields with us would tramp,
He taught us if you try you can,
Taught us how to be a man.
I listen to the pastor pray,
But in my mind, am far away,
Inside a tent, by flowing stream,
I hear Jake's voice, must be a dream.
My eyes tear up, perhaps the smoke?
Don't use green wood, Jake once had spoke,
It's been awhile since I have cried,
Today a man, named Jake, has died.
[This message has been edited by Mike (edited 05-23-2000).]