Gary N. Skorheim

My parents received me here on earth.
Little hope had I at birth.
I could tell at two or three

That others came ahead of me.

At four I shared a cup of tea
with sister Janet, small like me.
At a child's table in our porch
In summer sunshine.

At five years old in church I sang with Paul, with Grace Ann, up we stood
To sing for God in childhood.
Our parents gathered and admired.

Early grades at school were shared
With better students than I fared.
Frustration grew, up through grade four,
'Till fraction math I well did score.

Music surfaced in grade seven,
Sounds that were not made in Heaven.
Yet with some talent I applied,
And something grew from deep inside.

As hope appeared with each new sing,
Some pleasant sounds I now did bring
To each occasion, as I could
With guys from 'round the neighborhood.

In choirs and quartets I found
Well written music did abound.
And ballads from the '30 years

Could bring up some romantic tears.

And now in middle years it seems
Some music exceeds all my dreams.