Give praise for one who lived with dignity,
who welcomed all who came before they knocked,
a heart, a door wide open to the ones
to whom compassion gives a sheltering roof.
A whistle to the dog in morning mist,
a scrub with Solvol when the work was done
and shadows oversaw the carmine light
that heralds evening's cushions and their quiet.
A steadfast man, devout in his belief,
who saw two children buried, and a wife,
yet when the chasm threatened to devour
his faith, found a beatitude in pain.
A wiry, brave, plain talking farmer who
may not be known outside the acreage
encompassing the Gippsland Hills and yet
left his own legacy from honest sweat
Streaked with gold pollen and the seeds of hay
A hero sleeping under ripened grass.
2 May 2009
Revised 14 July 2011
