I have composed one hymn in my life, and this is it. I’ve shared it before, but I’ll share it again. Perhaps this time I’ll see some royalties. The truth is it’s not very singable, which makes sense; I’m not sing-able myself.

In the Bleak Midsummer

In the bleak midsummer, in muggy heat I groan,

Dehydration, broiler temps, sweat and kidney stones.

The heat’s not dry around these parts; I think I’m growing gills.

How can anyone still doubt that global warming’s real?

The midday sun beats down again; my sangfroid is fried.

I’ve changed my shirt a seventh time and thrown away my tie.

Dress more coolly, you might say; wear some shorts, relax.

But once you’ve seen my blinding legs; you’ll plead return to slacks.

I’m a whiter shade of pale; the sun is not my friend.

SPF of 70 is my one defense.

Basal cell and squamous cell, melanoma, too,

For you, these are words to dread; for me a list to do.

Still, summer brings its blessings, some simple and some mixed.

In July we settle in; appointments now are fixed.

But the pews are so sparsely warmed; paranoia’s deep.

Will you all return this fall, or have I lost my sheep?

I’m sure you’ll all return someday; all will be just fine.

But for now not just one is gone; it’s the ninety-nine.

So write your check before you leave; drop it by the church.

We have A.C. bills to pay; don’t leave us in the lurch.

Get ye out, enjoy God’s beautiful outdoors,

Blessings are abounding; count them by the score.

Then come back and worship; worship God above.

The pale guy in the robe up front welcomes you with love.

In Christ,

Mark Westmoreland