THE MAN DOWN THE ROAD
by T-M Fitzgerald
On my way down the road, I'd walk by his farmHe was out there most days of the week.
We'd meet at his mailbox, talk ‘bout the weatherNot a day went by we didn't speak.
He was a church-goin man, though he wasn't my kinHe just started sharin’ mem'ries with me.
He eventually revealed how there was nobody left...
Just an old dog and some mem-o-ries.
He asked me once, back when I was in school...
He'd asked when he died, if I'd do him a favor....
He said, “Boy, my Daddy and his folks are all there...
He pointed, “Promise you'll see that's where I go too?”
With tears in my eyes, I nodded, “Yes sir, I will.”
I walked back home a little slower that dayAnd thought long ‘bout what he had said.
I thought how sad it was there was no one else left,
No one to bury him when he was dead.
It was years after I’d returned when the good Lord aboveDecided it was that old man’s time...
No family did claim him, to lay him to rest,
Just a few folks from his church and mine.
I commented to the pastor, who spoke too few words,
Of the request the old man made of me.
“He wanted to be buried up here with his folksIn this churchyard he pointed to me.”
I was fortunate to know this lonesome old soulNever noticing the letters after his name...
When he was alive I never realized just who he was“My friend...a United States Marine.”
(Before I enlisted, years ago...)
And this to me he told...
In that churchyard up on the hill.”
Only who he had slowly became...
The Warrior Heart November 2014 - 18