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The Glutton and the Humble Man - Take Your Place, Say Grace

by Bryan Miles

Next in line, cow or swine?
Baste them up, it's time to dine!
I want it all, it's time to eat
Every tempting, morsel of meat
Filet Mignon, delicious Prime Rib
Dripping, sliding, down my bib!
Salty bacon, fresh cut steak
Instead of a fork, bring a rake
Fill my plate, and pile it high
Roast it, steam it, bake it, fry;
Tender, tasty, loins of meat
Freshly killed, it's time to eat
And so, the way of the glutton went
Time at the table, time well spent
He could barely fit in the master's seat
Too much belly, too much meat!

The humble man, on the other hand
Was thin as a bean, a righteous man
He always gave thanks, whatever he ate
No matter what, was on his plate;
Buttered broccoli, black-eyed peas
Homemade gravy, melted cheese
Mashed potatoes, yes, even steak!
Fresh grilled fish, and chocolate cake
But the humble man, didn't live to eat;
Food is good, but the Lord is sweet!

To the glutton, nothing tasted bland
Couldn't fit enough food, in the palm of one hand
He gobbled it down, like we gobble down sin
Burp it all off, then wipe his chin;
He would wipe his chin, then wash his face
But he never gave thanks, and he never said grace!

The humble man, came to visit one day
Dirty plates, lined the way
With a wooden spoon, he propped the door
And there lay the glutton, sprawled on the floor!
All of the burgers, the bacon, the beef
Not one single vegetable, or stalky green leaf;
Had put him where he was, laying flat on his back
A gluttonous gorge of a heart attack!

Sitting in his mouth, was an apple of red
A black and blue bruise, covered his head
He looked like a pig, being readied to bake
A Pig in a Blanket, for goodness sake!
He pigged out in life, now he pigged out in death;
A gluttonous gasp, of one last breath!

Let this be a lesson, if you sit in his place
Even a glutton, should humbly say grace
Give thanks for the food, that sits on your plate;
Gain gratitude, even if you gain weight!
The glutton was buried, in a very wide box
No room for his shoes, or even his socks;
On his gravestone there stood, an appropriate shrine!
One slab of bacon, a cow, and a swine...

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Click Here to contact Bryan Miles to request permission to use this poem.