Who Visions a Great Oak

My problem boy, now six-foot-two, full grown,
Is a man crowned with content, eyes wonder bright,
Who stops his toil to watch a lark in flight
Or listen to its silver flute intone
The wild, sweet breath of spring, for on his own
Green acres--no soul-need to prove his might--
He plants and reaps, with love his acolyte,
Yet spares the pheasant's nest till young have flown.

Once as we watched the land's awaking soul
Gently he mused: "Recall your problem lad?...
Who visions a great oak will plant the seed."--
His hand reached out, caressed the new-born foal;
His eyes sought mine with tenderness--"I had
A teacher, one who saw and filled my need."

Poet-Teacher

(To Snow Longley Housh)

While piloting her silver yacht of song
To reach, at last, a quiet blue lagoon,
She bids the weary desert-hearts be strong

To find the cool oasis, flower-strewn.
The sails of sunset now serenely hold
The beauty she but glimpsed at dawn or noon.

Her singing spirit never will grow old.
Refreshed at wisdom's fount, she gives to youth
The wine of inspiration, and the gold

Minted from love and tempered fine with ruth.
A star, her compass guiding to her goal,
Her heart a chalice lifted high for truth,

Her light of faith becomes an aureole
Revealing God's own imprint on her soul.

The School on the Hill

And do you remember those years long ago
When we trudged through the mud and the deeply piled snow
To that little old schoolhouse just over the hill?
(I went back last summer and found it there still.)
I think you remember that kindly old man
Who taught all those years. Now recall if you can
The Halloween prank that the boys played on him--
Wheels changed on his buggy--his hand long and slim
He waved in farewell as he drove on his way
Calling, "My! This old carriage is wobbling today."
Remember the songs that he taught us to sing?
(A master musician) The echoes still ring
And resound in that silent and hallowed old room
That now is untouched by a duster or broom.

Remember the morals he told us about?
That we should speak softly, not roughly; nor shout;
That we could live simply yet walk with the great;
That fame often entered a small country gate;
"Opportunity knocks on a worthy man's door;
For Abraham Lincoln was humble, yet wore
The badge of distinction through hard honest work."
And we could do likewise if we would not shirk
But answer the challenge for growth in our town.

The boys of that class are now men of renown;
The girls who once charmed with their sweet country grace
Are dignified matrons who mother the race.
The world may not know of that school on the hill,
The dreams it awakened in Nellie and Will,
But folks will be better because it was there.
The floors are now sagging, the old room is bare,
The plaster is falling--the years bring decay,
But its soul lingers on and is living today.
The songs and the lessons it taught in the past,
The virtues and beauties, forever, will last.

The American Bard