With a two hour pass,
We must stop and get gas.
As we travel on,
The CB and radio on.
An Angel passes by,
Not seen in the clear sky.
My boy offered a ride,
In the big rig, pulling to the side.
Lifting him in,
The driver did with a big grin.
Ten miles they did go,
With the trucker we didn’t even know.
They talked all the way,
Mom\’s tears barely held at bay.
His smile of delight,
Brighter than the morning sun light.
As from the seat he was lifted,
By that driver so gifted.
Going our separate ways,
To the Lord I sing praise.
A safe trip for him,
And many blessings showered on him.
Many I had asked,
To handle that great task.
Denied by all,
On a stranger the job did fall.
For try as I can,
Never able to remember the name of that man.
The Troubled Angel wants not,
To put him on the spot.
For he was the only one,
Who did bring out my son.
The sickly child he had been,
The Mom didn’t want to point out the sin.
For in years since then,
She now sees the rule broken by some men.
For a stranger to bear,
Responsibility for a sick child is very rare.
Copyright ©2004 Phyllis Garland
Leave a Comment