John Henry had a hard life when he was just a lad.
Taken from his dying mother at age six, he was brought up by his
dad.
The second youngest of five children and the oldest son,
Someone had to work and help -- John Henry was the one.
It was the early nineteen hundreds and school took second place.
Yet the harder life was to John and the hurrier the pace
The softer his heart seemed to grow; and the easier to break.
John Henry was destined to always give and to seldom take.
He rarely spoke an unkind word of another soul
And, though he never went to church, kindness was his goal.
I know these things of which I speak; I knew John Henry well.
He was my own dear grandpa and these stories I've heard him tell:
About his sister Stella who died when she was young
And how his heart yearned for her; she was his favorite one.
How he sold newspapers on the corner for pennies to buy bread,
And how sometimes, when things got rough, he wished he, too, were
dead.
Great Grandpa became a wanderer, and seldom took the time
To hold John Henry in his arms, and say I'm glad you're mine.
But as they went from place from place in the horse-drawn cart
John hoped he held a special place in Great Grandpa Charlie's
heart.
Charlie brewed moonshine whiskey which J.H. would help him sell.
But that came to a screechin' halt when John married Lula Bell.
Her father's brother was a preacher, so to her that wasn't right.
They met at a buckaroo dance; fell in love at first sight.
They buckaroo'd together. Caught mustangs in the hills.
They broke and sold the horses to keep up with life's bills.
Life was hard in a wild horse camp -- living in a tent --
And hard to save a nest egg as from camp to camp they went,
But eventually they saved enough to go out on their own;
to get a place to raise their girls. It was John's first real
home.
But Fate dealt John another blow; a fire took all they had.
And to this day, the fire, some say, was started by John's dad.
How ere it happened, no one knows, but in any event...
They were forced back to the buckaroo camps; and living in a
tent.
The elements were no match for John, mild, but by no means weak,
And soon they had another ranch near a place called Succor Creek.
The best days of my life were there -- when I was just a child.
John Henry was my shelter from the world so big and wild.
Not like his mom, but when I was young my father left me, too.
John Henry's destiny to give, gave me a father, too.
You cannot tell in one short story what took a lifetime to
unfold,
And the sequence of events may not be just as I was told,
But the moral of the story's the same...how ere the sequence
went:
The finest castle hold no more love than did John Henry's tent.
And now I'm gown; and like Great Grandpa, seldom take the time
To hold John Henry in my arms and say, I'm glad you're mine.
But throughout my life I'll always see his soft blue eyes and
smile
And pause each time I see a tent...and think of him a while.
So I write this for my Grandpa, knowing that he'll find
He won't have to give in Heaven. He'll be GIVEN peace of mind.
And to say how much I love him, though it may seldom show,
And to thank him for his gift to me...his love...I cherish so.
:-) cj -- "owed" to John Henry
