Pass the Biscuits, Please

Iremember growing up,

Sundaysafter church was done,

Chickendinner on the table,

Mommawith her apron on.

Offeredup, a silent prayer,

Aswe passed around the black-eyed peas,

Silencebroken when someone said,

“Passthe biscuits, Please.”

 

Daddycursed the coffee stain

Onhis favorite shirt.

Allthe boys can’t wait to go

Playsome baseball in the dirt.

ButMom insisted we take our time

Beforeeverybody leaves. She said,

“Let’senjoy a little conversation,

So,pass the biscuits please.”

 

Preachersays that “to be a family

Issuch a precious thing,

Thekind of gift that will lift you up

Andmake your spirit sing.”

Ithank the Lord for the things I’ve got

Eachnight on bended knees,

AndMomma’s sweet love in these four words,

“Passthe biscuits, Please.”