Casimir Pulaski Day

Goldenrod and the 4-H stone

The things I brought you

When I found out you had cancer of the bone

Your father cried on the telephone

And he drove his car to the navy yard

Just to prove that he was sorry

In the morning, through the window shade

When the light pressed up against your shoulder blade

I could see what you were reading

Oh, the glory that the Lord has made

And the complications you could do without

When I kissed you on the mouth

Tuesday night at the Bible study

We lift our hands and pray over your body

But nothing ever happens

I remember, at Michael’s house

In the living room when you kissed my neck

And I almost touched your blouse

In the morning at the top of the stairs

When your father found out what we did that night

And you told me you were scared

Oh, the glory when you ran outside

With your shirt tucked in and your shoes untied

And you told me not to follow you

Sunday night, when I cleaned the house

I find the card where you wrote it out

With the pictures of your mother

On the floor at the great divide

With my shirt tucked in and my shoes untied

I am crying in the bathroom

In the morning when you finally go

And the nurse runs in with her head hung low

And the cardinal hits the window

In the morning, in the winter shade

On the first of March, on the holiday

I thought I saw you breathing

Oh, the glory that the Lord has made

And the complications when I see his face

In the morning, in the window

Oh, the glory when he took our place

But he took my shoulders and he shook my face

And he takes, and he takes, and he takes