One last time
John Clare Stokes
By the time word arrived of Angeline's passing
Long past the drying of the aqua foam crosses laced with baby's breath and lilies
Fading in the Mt Trial Primitive sand
The little white boy could not understand
How they quietly got Sister Donaldson to glory
So he prayed for some angels with hell to pay.
From her pomade doo a boy in Sopchoppy is running
beneath white sheets on the clothesline to hide
Chasing him out of Mrs Clara Jeans clean parsonage.
Down at Langton's IGA cries a boy for a toy
While out in Buckhorn the Mt Trial sisters shout for joy
But not the panting figure hiding in the black cemetery
For he is pleading,
Oh once again chase me
Chase me from the clean parsonage Angeline
Chase me with the big, red
Butcher knife just one last time.
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