a poem by Nancy Ellen Crossland, USA

In his presence
A comforting peace was found
Sinewy hands,
Calloused yet gentle
On my shoulders placed around,

He'd speak of long days toiled
Under blazing sun,
Freezing rain;
Of resilient women
Dutiful children
Prayer at days' end,

Archaic, old-fashioned
Perhaps may be told
A time of town meetings
A voice,
Where all may be heard
No thoughts or suggestions
Called absurd,

A common goal
For all was sought
No man could be lured, tempted
Or bought,

A fable, fantasy, dream
You say?
I'd rather believe it was that way,

Only a child was I
Yet still recall
The wisdom in his eyes,

A great uncle
A rare breed of man
Kindness and strength
He held it all
Within his hands.

Nancy Ellen Crossland

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