God's Highway
Ran into you at a Hobby Lobby on Saturday And again at the shop on Monday. You said you'd been out riding around town. And you were gone by Wednesday. It's not natural to say: "This is the last time we'll ever fist bump." It's: "I'll see you later, brother." That's appropriate– That's how it ought to play out. But now I can say nothing to you, Except that "saying" is superficial, And the abyss goes deeper than My dumb pen can scratch. Only this: venture into glory, friend, Where God's fishing streams Are wide and deep, And the highway you're driving on Has your Home at the end of it.
