Bob Gibson - A Tablecloth

It was raining hard in Brooklyn, on a dark December day
A priest was passing a garage sale, that was on his way
His eye caught a tablecloth, it was red and with a cross
To cover up the damage of the plaster he had lost

Rain had damaged the pulpit wall, 'a sorry sight to see
So he covered it with the tablecloth, to cover the debris
A lady was befriended, by the priest, on her way back home
He invited her in to Gods house, where God had blessed each stone

Like drowned rats they entered, the place where saviors dwelt
She offered up a pray, on her knees she knelt
She looked up and saw the the tablecloth, and to the preacher said
Please look, is there a signature, three letters sewn in red

The letters were the signature, from thirty five years before
When atrocities in Germany in the wake of a world war
Her husband had been taken, because he was a Jew
She had never heard or seen him since, one of but a few

The priest took her home and thanked her, and blessed her for her story
And returned to take a sermon, Christmas eve in all its glory
Alone an old man gazed, at the cross upon the wall
Tears ran from his eyes, the preacher did recall

That cloth cross, upon the wall! its embroidered in my mind
My wife made one similar, on the bottom she had signed
The preacher, drove the old man, to the place his wife resided
And reunited them together, I think God had decided!

Bob Gibson

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