Sure Seems Mighty Funny

*Sure Seems Mighty Funny

*Title added by Dean Austin - Mr. Austin did not give this poem a title.

Folks, It sure seems mighty funny

When a feller's checkin' up

On the things he's done and aint done

'Way back since he was a pup;

And it sort o' makes him wonder

Why it don't work out by rules,

And why livin' and a prosp'rin'

Aint been taught in these here schools.

But somehow I'm not a kickin';

If our days are real complete,

Why we'll have to grin and bear it,

Take the bitter with the sweet.

I aint made a lot o' money,

And I aint been hungry much;

Times I've been a little lazy,

And I've worked to beat the Dutch.

I aint very good at hatin'

And at lovin', guess I'm fair;

'Though I'm past the age for ravin'

'Bout sweet lips and lovely hair.

I aint smart like this here Einstein,

I aint dumb like some I know;

I don't mind a scorchin' summer,

I don't mind a bit o' snow.

I like jokes and things that 's funny,

Like my sides to have to hold;

Heaps o' things to me aint funny,

Hope and Godfrey leave me cold.

Like to go to church on Sunday,

And think of the blessin's had;

But sometimes the things I'm Hearin'

Bound to leave me hoppin' mad.

I aint perfect by a durn sight,

I aint claimin' that I am;

But my dander sort o' raises

When I'm seein' fake and sham.

Folks is folks, that's clear I reckon,

But a notion that I've got

Is that some that thinks they're perfect,

They to others aint so hot.

Times I've listened to a preacher,

Felt a need for somethin' good;

He just nipped around the edges,

I kept waitin' for the food

That would sort o' raise my chin up

And put sand right in my craw;

But he sort o' posed and gestured,

Folks, there ought to be a law.

'Gainst a preacher's soothin' syrup,

Or his friskin' like a feist,

Or his rantin's 'bout religion

When ne's never met the Christ.

He knows heaps about baptizin'

Quotin' scripture, lots o' speed;

But the milk of human kindness

Aint included in his creed.

Then the benediction over,

Out the congregation pours,

And somehow the air seems fresher

Out in God's great out-o-doors.

See the sun a shinin' brightly,

Birds a wheelin' 'cross the sky,

Green grass growin' and the flowers

Seem to sort a take my eye.

And right there I feel like kneelin'

And a thankin' Him above;

For the chance to walk or stumble,

Always knowin' of His love.

Singin' birds furnish the music,

Runnin' waters is the prayer,

All of nature is the preacher

And I worship then and there.

H. B. Austin

May 16, 1952

Howard B. Austin's writings are provided on this site for your pleasure. Those who visit are not granted permission to copy or distribute any of these writings without written permission.