Play the Game

With ‘High-Ho-Silver, Away!!’
The Lone Ranger Cry of the day,
While on the Carousel We’d Play,
Saving the Wagon Train, or a ‘Stray.’

Play the Game
By Arley Steinhour 072418

Are you crippled, or deathly Ill?
Perhaps you need a Jesus Pill.
In Him, you still can feel the Thrill,
Of a Joyous Eternity just over the Hill.

To Sing and Dance, Praising His Name,
Wildest Dreams Answered to His Fame,
No Sickness, no wounds, to ever Exclaim,
Justified of Sin, as Perfect, to Satan’s Shame.

When I was a child, I loved the Carrousel,
Whenever I could, and one was found,
Loping along, on my Trusty Steed, I Clowned,
As if there were many Indians Around.

With Bright lights flashing, Horse Loping Full Speed,
With Trusty Cap-gun on hip, twas all I’d truly need,
Defending the Wagons, in a Circle the Creed,
Hanging, Low in the Saddle, that I not Bleed.

Left hand on the horn, right knee clamping Cantle,
Left boot in the Stirrup, I fought hard the Battle,
No Bad-Guy could shoot me, from my hidden Mantle,
Since Carrousel’s floor was Hard Wood, and metal.

Understanding failed me, when the Music did Play,
It was always ‘Lovey-Dovey’ to the Adults of Sway,
So, we the younger, whooped in our noisy Way,
With ‘Yeee-Haaa’s,’ and a ‘Get Along Doggie Display.

The old ‘Trenton Pow-Wow,’ that came once a year,
Had Hundreds of Indians, for ‘Entertainment and Lore,’
I learned many Dances, and Remembrances for sure,
Helping my Indian heritage, change unto the Fore.

A short tale I tell, as American Mutt, be my Linage,
A part of the American Stew, that makes our Vintage,
Guided by God/Jesus, to do as He Shapes our Scrimmage,
To ‘Play our Part’ Joyously, in His Holy Image.

Join me. AMEN