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Gasconade
Will Johnson
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Forgiveness comes in threes
My father said to me
Uncompromise your trust
And follow your belief
The boy up on the hill
I saw from our hollow
Was weeping, sallow, bent
The moon and field and still
I called out loud to him
His eyes averted west
I wondered how to be
Some force of hope for he
I wrangled from my fear
Approached him silently
A breath I heaved, and then
A word of strength for him
His eyes were low and tired
Half broken was this one
I brought him to his feet
Never a word to me
Never a word to me
Never a word to me
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