Red Hill built his house. He built his barn and his fences. He built his life. He built a relationship with his wife. His family. He built a faith in God in his children. He built up the livestock on the farm. He helped build our house. He built love with each child, grand child and great grand child. He built up his bank account buckle by nickel. He built everything. He built flower beds. He built roads. Heck, he built railroads. In his semi-confused state he painted what he built to leave something nice for his family. He built everything all along. Do, as he passed from us I thought of what he would do next. I found this poem by an unknown author. I can imagine what Red is doing now! An old man, going a lone highway, Came at the evening, cold and gray, To a chasm, vast and deep and wide Through which was flowing a sullen tide. The old man crossed in the twilight dim; The sullen stream had no fears for him; But he turned when safe on the other side And built a bridge to span the tide. Old man, said a fellow pilgrim near, You are wasting strength with building here; Your journey will end with the ending day; You never again must pass this way; You have crossed the chasm, deep and wide. Why build the bridge at eventide? The builder lifted his old gray head. Good friend, in the path I have come, he said. There follows after me today A youth whose feet must pass this way. This chasm that has been naught to me To that fair-haired youth may be pitfall be. He, too, must cross in the twilight dim; Good friend, I am building the bridge for him.
Posted on: Wed, 29 Jan 2014 01:41:04 +0000
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