© Bob Barra, 5-28-07
Here I am, a little stinky;
I’m such a brat, you wanna hit me;
But you must love me, ‘cause of Jesus;
You would punch me, but He sees us;
I poke and prod my family’s patience,
And wait for them to pass their sentence;
It doesn’t come; could it be God?
So once again I poke and prod;
Thank You, Lord, for all my sisters,
How they’re patient with this mister;
Their love for me is so undaunted;
I’m the brother they never wanted!
Thank You, Lord, for my brothers,
They love me much, like You, my Father;
If not for that, I’d have no fun,
Though that’s not being like the Son;
Like a treat, test their acumen,
It’s soon I find how they’re so human;
And now they speak, they seem so surly;
“What d’ya mean, I’m so ‘unruly’?”
“Alright, forgive me; I will stop;
I read the Word, but I forgot;
I’m to be just like the Son,
But being bratty’s so much fun!”
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