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PERHAPS HE'S DEAD
by N. Neddermeyer
I was playing with the
Shriner's band, In a small town, hot parade.
A hand was placed upon my back
by a women with a crutch.
She told about a tear that
came, when she saw the Shriner's band
"I was in the Shriner's
Hospital, I was frightened - I was low
"He visited me every Sunday,
for possibly two years.
"He must be in his nineties now... Well
no, perhaps he's dead.
"I wanted to keep in contact
with him for all my life
"I just wanted to stop and
thank you, for the things that he had done
I watched her hobble off as I
stepped from the band.
I felt guilty for taking credit
for the Shriner who was strong but mild.
I thought, some forty years
from now, when a Shriner takes a bow,
Will they say that I was noble,
that my silly hat was red?
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Last modified: March 22, 2014