Uncle Charlie

I remember seeing Uncle Charlie
Only once before he died.
He was something of an oddity,
And so I doubt if many cried
When he stepped into eternity
And laid his oddities aside.

When I saw him there, I didn’t know
That it was him – an old man and
His dog just standing in the morning glow
Of Allen’s lumberyard, his tanned
Face looking for an honest smile to show
A caring heart and friendly hand.

After all, if Christ were not his friend
Of friends in those last days,
Who else would care enough to mend
His lonely heart – much less to raise
Him from the dust of death and tend
The mortal wound no mortal stays?


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