Waiting for the Rocky Choir

Young Johnny loved singing. He sang with delight.
He sang in the morning and before bed at night.
He sang every chorus with wiggles and sway,
But at church, he stood without singing one day.

His mother said softly, “Johnny, my dear,
You aren’t singing. Is something not clear?”
He nodded and grinned with a twinkle and spark.
“No trouble at all, Mom. I’m right on the mark.

“In Sunday school today, we learned of the King,
And a multitude who wanted to shout and sing.
The teacher said if they all hushed and grew still,
The rocks would cry out from every valley and hill.

“So here in the pew where some folks barely peep,
Where some only mumble and some almost sleep,
I’m listening quite closely to hear with my ears
If boulders might burst out with jubilant cheers.

“I’m listening for both pebbles and stones,
For gravelly tenors and rocky baritones.
Perhaps the mountains have booming bass notes,
While the small pebbles have squeaks in their throats.”

Mom just chuckled and patted his head.
“That’s something to think about,” she said.
And folks nearby sang with a wide grin,
Not wanting the hillside to have to join in.

So voices grew louder with praises that ring.
Johnny sang too with a bounce and a spring.
“No need for the rocks to take over today.
We’ve beaten the boulders,” he sang away.