In old Western towns on a dusty street track,
Good guys wore white and bad guys wore black.
With a tip of a brim you could tell who was who—
Just glance at a hat and the story rang true.
The villains wore black like a dark cloudy night,
While heroes wore white in the bright prairie light.
No puzzles, no riddles, no wondering who.
The hat did the thinking and sorting for you.
But step off screen where the tumbleweeds roll,
And life’s not a movie with one simple role.
For sometimes the dark doesn’t look bad at all.
It smiles in the sunshine, so pleasing and tall.
Some bad guys wear white hats glistening and bright,
With appearance and words that sound just right.
They tip hats so kindly. They grin wide and sweet—
While trouble is hiding beneath their inviting seat.
Sometimes a scruffy fellow in dusty old gray
May stumble and mutter and get in the way.
Yet he has a heart that is loving and true—
Although there’s no white hat to view.
So don’t judge a soul by the hat on his head,
Or by all the fine, fancy speeches he’s said.
The color of cloth is a costume at best.
What’s underneath will reveal all the rest.
For goodness is quieter, and humbler too.
It doesn’t need feathers or spotlight or hue.
But evil loves costumes and glittering light,
To borrow the look of whatever seems right.
So look past the hat, the suit and bow tie.
Look deep in the eyes for the reason why.
For life’s not a Western with clear-cut design.
The truest white hat is a heart that will shine.
