The Canonical Perspective

He would rise before the sun,
not in competition
but because there is work to be done.

It was as though he always heard a calling.
And the momentum kept building
and has no chance of stalling.

When he returned from each hard day,
it was the day who stalled
to let him keep giving.

The logs stood up with pride,
as his axe struck them
- slicing through with one glide.

The acres of grass
suffocated the weeds
so the green would never fade,
and lended themselves to his blade.

His son's wild pitch
would bend with the wind
and always find its way to his mitt.

And when the big brown recliner
opened itself and beckoned a yawn,
and he sat with his eyes simply resting.
He would count his numerous blessings
and plan the efforts of tomorrow.

And we knew he wasn't asleep
thanks to that subtle, honest smile.


Jordan R Shaver 08.29.2012