Poetry
The
Final Inspection
The
Trooper stood and faced his God.
Which
must always come to pass.
He
hoped his shoes were shining,
Just
as brightly as his brass.
"Step
forward now, Trooper.
How
shall I deal with you?
Have
you always turned the other cheek?
To
my church have you been true?"
The
Trooper shrugged his shoulders and
Said,
"No, Lord, I guess I ain’t,
Because
those of us who carry badges
Can't
always be a saint.
I've
had to work most Sundays, and at
Times
my talk was rough,
And
sometimes I've been violent, because
The
streets are awfully tough.
"But
I never took a penny,
that
wasn't mine to keep.
Though
I worked a lot of overtime
When
the bills just got too steep.
"And
I never passed a cry for Help,
though
at times I shook with fear.
And
sometimes, God, forgive me,
I've
wept unmanly tears.
I
know I don't deserve a place
Among
the people here.
They
never wanted me around except to
Calm
their fear.
If
you’ve a place for me here, Lord,
It
needn’t be so grand.
I
never expected or had too much.
But
if you don't I’ll understand."
There
was silence all around the throne
Where
saints had often trod,
As
the Trooper waited quietly, for the
Judgement
of his God.
"Step
forward now, my Trooper. You’ve
borne
your burdens well.
Come
walk a beat on Heaven’s Streets,
You’ve
done your time in Hell."
AUTHOR
UNKNOWN