The Preacher’s Daughter


Sit a spell and humor me
As I confession make
About my fourteenth summer
And my first romantic date

My girlfriend’s name was Charlotte
and times for privacy so rare
I thought it quite the perfect chance
I’d ask her to the fair

She blushed when first I queried
And said she’d really like to go
But first things first she said
And there was something I should know

Her father was a preacher
She seemed sorry to confess
And I would need permission
At their residence no less

My heart beat like an anvil
As I stepped up to the door
The bell rang out and with it
Heavy feet upon the floor

My courage wilted quickly
With the doorway’s opening
A huge and frightening visage
Greeted me beyond the screen

His eyes were like briquettes of coal
His arms of solid steel
A face of hand tooled leather
And a grip to make one kneel

“What are your intentions - Son?”
I shuddered at the thought
Then “Do I know your family?”
Before I even answered one

The grilling went on endlessly
Or so it seemed but then
A chance reprieve as ringing came
Within the preacher’s den

As soon as he had disappeared
I bolted from the porch
My time to home would qualify
To loft Olympia’s torch

I’ve often thought of Charlotte
And the fun we could’ve had
If not for fear of God or should I say
A fear of Dad

Preachers live to offer comfort
Sacred words and helpful tips,
But- I can’t imagine “grace or love”
E’r crossed Ole Brimstone’s lips.

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