Lord, You know I've tried to communicate,
Both with those I pass on the street
And those who will only know I've been here
By markings I made on paper that I bought
By making other markings on paper that I bought
By washing dishes and selling fish hooks.

It's a calling, it's a craft,
It's a pain in the butt;
It's as great a source of pleasure
As a person can ever know.

Lord, I don't mean to sound disrespectable,
But I think I know how You must feel,
Creating worlds and making people
Look and act like you want them to.
And I'll bet there's a pain deep in Your gut
Like there is in mine
When a danged good plot just don't pan out.

From You I got the calling,
From hard work I got the craft,
And the pain is worth the taking in exchange
For the greatest source of pleasure one could ever know.

©1975 William Neuel Littleton

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