Ballad of a Saint

Mike Easterling      Sometimes in the 1970s

At the office he’s ideal,

in the carpool he’s a saint,

at the club his character

has nary a taint.

At church he’s a teacher ,

an usher, a deacon,

in every activity

shining like a beacon.

The men give their reverence,

the ladies their respect

when on his credentials

they chance to reflect.

He’s not a curser,

he leaves the girls alone,

a cocktail or a playboy

he would never own.

The chances of his falling

are really quite remote,

but bring him through the doors of home

and he’s just an old goat.

He’s quick to criticize

the faults of everyone,

he’s forgotten the true meaning

of praise and joy and fun.

He frets around the house

and squelches all suggestions,

his manner gives to one and all

acid indigestion.

The moral of this ballad

is easy to be known:

Your faith is quite meaningless

unless you practice it at home.