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Uncle Dennis rests 'neath the
prairie sod.
Lest I forget the boots he donned and shod.
What wisdom he read and life he led
Quiet and lonely now where once were shed
Tears of blood cried and his fist waved
When he questioned why his son couldn't be saved.
All that lives is the empty laugh of the 'ole coyote
And then that freezing sleet beating our coat
When we buried that boy's strength and dreams
Resting so far out even away from summer's streams.
Next to his mother he rests at last
Not in her arms but now as a man of the past.
The cowboys and their ladies today who walk over that sacred ground
Are a memory of other days in my youth when their ancestors were found
There is a lot that is all far away and gone, it's true
But a spirit through the youth whose pursed lips turn blue
While they stand cold and stoic as those who went before them,
Today waiting for the last words to be said over a lady, small and slim.
Uncle's words come back swirling over my mind's ways like a net,
“Be kind, je said. Remember the Lord's work, do this daily, Lest ye
forget.”
To all that are here now who didn't know my uncle or his mind set,
Mine was the honor to hear his admonishments for, “Lest ye forget.”
For how can I forget the force of great grandfather's vision
When he left his family for Oklahoma wild, in spite of their derision.
All the things he and his, like gamblers their lives played and bet,
No I won't, we won't, lack memory “Lest we forget.” |
