One August day, nineteen twenty six
There came to birth of human mix,
Margaret's boy-child she called, Bruce.
"For God", she said, "He's for God's use".
'T was better for her than it was for me.
It gave me a false identity.
I didn't know if this God existed,
But I went along as tradition insisted.
I got me a "Rev" and a clerical collar,
A noble task for a meagre dollar.
When I took my place in the lecture hall,
My clergy career just went to the wall.
Such bigotry in this modern age
Barely forty years ago,
I found afresh from old history's page,
With its stake-burning flames still aglow.
Flap your wings or your tail feathers burn:
I considered my only two options.
So I quit the church a living to earn,
Selling textbooks for class-room adoptions.
Great employment with much enjoyment,
I never knew before,
Philosophy books with their broader outlooks,
Gave me an open door.
Free to think with a mind unbought,
I traversed the world of rational thought.
I found a way to think and to wonder,
For easy believing can be a big blunder.
Heads God isn't; tails God is.
No one knows life's greatest quiz.
We place our bet on eternal odds,
Or lie forever beneath the sods - Your call.

- BC