The Pioneer Valley Academy Chapel by Dennis Farley
"Preacher's Lament" |
Written on the occasion of Doug and Valorie's wedding in Brookfield, Vermont Old friends were getting married, So they asked if I would help. "T'would be my pleasure," I replied; You can't do that yourself. "Come home to Vermont," they told me; "We're getting married there." So I loaded up my suitcase And slickered down my hair. But before I left, they e-mailed me And said I'd better watch out. For probate court was after me, Because they had some doubt. It seems that unlike other states, Vermont just doesn't accept The word or even credentials Of the minister who's elect. So I sent off to the probate court My twenty-five dollar fee, And they sent back a certificate, Gold-stamped and signed for me. But before they honored me with such, They wrote my assistant first, And asked her to tell them more about The one who led her church. Was he in fact a preacher man? Was he ordained of God? Lord knows that his word held no stock With policies so odd. She wrote them back and swore an oath, Or seemed to anyway, That he was quite a decent sort And qualified, she'd lay. So in due time I got my form, All authorized and signed, And went off to Vermont to preach A marriage for the blind. I tied the knot; they grinned and kissed. We signed the license; naught was missed. The license dutifully was placed Right in the town clerk's box. And I, I traveled back out West (By jet, and not by ox.) But, just as fate would have it, My work was not yet done. For mighty soon thereafter A letter arrived at home. "Dear Reverend Farley," it began, "I'm writing you to say, That the job you thought was finished Can't wait another day." "You must mail back that fancy form The probate court sent you, For if you don't those birds aren't wed; Your future's doubtful too." Well, I pondered that one for a while, And looked through all my drawers, And just when I had given up hope, I found that wretched form. I folded it and licked a stamp And dropped it in the mail , And prayed that it would get there safe - The postman wouldn't fail. So now I think I've finished All the things required of me. I've done the job; I've mailed the forms; I've paid the process fee. But truth be told, it won't surprise If the constable soon comes knocking, And tells me that I ain't through yet - My crime's just short of shocking. So let this be a lesson If Vermont paths you should wend; Be sure your paperwork's all done; Without it, there's no end. KEEPING TIME Click to Read Written on the occasion of the passing of Luella Caddel, April 2001 08/2001 05/2001 H O M E |