. . . in his sleep! ‘Twas Saturday when Dad sat down.
He’d been quite busy all ‘round town.
Helping folks — the sick the poor,
Ringing bells and knocking on doors. Minister work is never done,
Unabated, sun to sun.
Brief pauses sometimes might appear,
And that’s when dad goes shooting deer. Other dads, they guzzle booze,
but my dad, he’ll just take a snooze,
While dreams of Bambi fill his head,
Upon his Barcalounger red.