   Vanilla Sunday Copyright; Charlee Marshall The day old Job Martin died The eulogy was fine The preacher said, as best he knew, Old Job was ninety-nine The widow brushed her staggering locks And said she didn’t know... They had no calendars or clocks T.V. or radio. “We kept no count of month or year He didn’t drink or smoke...” A stranger, who was standing near, Walked up to her and spoke: “Perhaps you think it wise” he said “A precept here to see The hard, abstentious life he led Caused his longevity?” The widow made her genuflects And sadly did she state “Alas, he always looked for sex On Sundays, right on eight” “Hold hard!” the stranger cried in shock. “If things were as you claim, How did you know when eight o’clock Or even Sunday, came?” “That little church just down the track Copyright; Written by Charlee Marshall
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