Preacher Booker's Smile

Preacher Booker's wife died a tragic death-
everyone said she had been sick for awhile,
her lungs filled with chemicals, no breath-
she gave up nothing, not even her smile.

I found out a week after they buried her-
he came up to see me at my job,
I saw in his heart, he sadly carried her-
but not so alone, still close to God.

She was a black woman, pretty and fair-
she had freckled skin just like me,
at the news, I stood in a silence there-
as the tears from my eyes fell so free.

I mean, what do you say to a 'Man of the Word'-
one usually talks of God when people die,
he touched my face for the voice he heard-
saying our freckles are kisses from angels high.

My mascara running, he held my hand tightly-
and I didn't even think to question why
he told me, as it began to rain lightly,
we've got freckles on our hearts, there's no need to cry.

Since then, many times, I've seen him here-
relaxing, swinging on the canopy swing-
always with the smile of faith without fear-
and he doesn't give up anything.

No matter the barren and infertile sod
or how jagged and dark the up-coming mile-
I don't give up anything, but only trod
reminded again, He's there, my God,
each time I see Preacher Booker's smile.