GUY
Slim in his denim jeans,
a cigarette hangin' from his lip;
A cowboy hat cocked on his head,
and a smile left as a tip.
His face was weathered to a tan,
his hands gnarled from hard toil;
The days he served in the military,
proved him to be a soldier loyal.
Some might have called him friend,
others would say brother or son;
But Guy was indeed his own man,
and remained so till life was done.
He grew up in some hard times,
the second oldest child of nine;
Heartaches and pain were often felt,
and would stress His troubled mind.
I still see him sitting there,
an easy smile on a wrinkled face;
I still hear his raspy voice,
in my memory, time can't erase.
Many the stories he could have told,
as he looked you in the eye;
And I wish to God I'd listened more,
this unique man we knew as Guy.
Death cannot be stayed for long,
it comes to claim our precious kin;
When it's done and the words are sung,
we must promise he won't be forgotten.
Larry D. Sparks
March 10, 1996
No comments:
Post a Comment