Traditional Men
The Oak—was never loud—to prove—
The Mountain—made no Plea—
It held the Winter—in its Palm—
And kept the Sparrow—free—
The Hands—that bore—the Splinter's Mark—
Still offered Bread—to One—
Who came—with empty Apron tied—
Before—the setting Sun—
The Promise—was no Trumpet's Cry—
Nor Banner—in the Sky—
But Morning's Fire—and Evening's Door—
Where weary Hearts—might lie—
Yet Time—has taught—the strongest Limb—
May Bow—to Wind—or Grief—
And Honor—is not made of Stone—
But Mercy's quiet Leaf—
If there are Men—still built—of This—
The World—is not undone—
For every gentle Act—reveals—
A Kingdom—never won—
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