(Every word of this is true.)
A friend of mine, some thirty years ago,
The eldest son, a farming family’s pride,
Was gone from school, about a month or so
Before we heard the truth—the boy had died.
He’d fallen from a tractor in a field,
Though whether he was dead first, we don’t know;
The coroner’s exam? Too late to yield
An answer; there was nothing it could show.
His parents tried to cure the boy with prayer--
They brought him home, and put their son to bed.
Devout and faithful, hope turned to despair;
It broke their hearts, admitting he was dead.
Their church—to whom they turn when times are rough—
Blamed them, and said they had not prayed enough.
(This is one of the reasons I care.)