The Old Worn Out Bible

The Old Worn Out Bible

In the middle of nowhere a cabin on the hill,

Plastic covered windows to protect from winters chill.

A worn out old rocking chair,

He sits and stares.

A thread bare Bible, an old coffee cup,

The handles broke, but he takes a sup.

His old wrinkled fingers turn the pages one at a time,

Searching for a verse to ease his troubled mind.

Arthritic fingers, reach for his gray hair,

And rub the knot that appears there.

How did it happen? He doesn’t remember well,

As he aged his memories often failed.

Just him now, no one to call for help,

Only the good Lord and his Bible, And his wife’s picture on the shelf.

His hands shake all the time now, and his legs are kind of weak,

He was supposed to do something today, and he squinted his eyes as he tried to think.

He struggled to his feet, staggered and almost fell,

And he reached for his cane to steady himself.

His fingers hurt, as he wrapped them around his cane,

And though he was hard of hearing,

He heard the drops of rain.

His arthritis always acted up when the rains came,

And this time was no different as he felt the pain.

He hobbled towards the kitchen, forgot his coffee cup,

Well who was to know? He drank some milk from the jug.

His head was pounding, and his body ached,

He couldn’t even hold his stooped shoulders straight.

He felt a chill, it was just downright cold,

That’s what he had forgot, to get some wood for the stove.

Now it was all wet, what was he going to do?

Chills overtook him, and he had just gotten over the flu.

He sat back in his rocker, a handmade quilt gathered tight,

He would only sit there a minute, but he was there all night.

Next day his son found him, froze to death,

With his old worn out Bible clutched to his chest.