Author’s Note: My Muse accosted me this morning…

Plutarch of the Piedmont

Land once surveyed by Washington,
Patrick Henry passed this way,
Farm land rich and lush,
Fought for by Blue and Gray.

His ancestors had a hand in building it,
Helped lay down the iron rail,
In his youth he defended it,
Now he preserves it in detail.

He recounts the lives of those before,
Who labored to build this land,
He preserves their legacy,
And draws out a silver strand.

A silver strand that few see,
But which connects us to those lives,
He preserves their stories,
And ensures the memory survives.

The lives of key Americans,
Men many would otherwise not know,
Like a great historian of old,
From his pen do their lives now flow.

With wit and humor and elan,
He gives us what we need and want,
A man of erudition and charm,
He is the Plutarch of the Piedmont.

High Plains Cato

Each day he toils to instruct,
To point out wrong from right,
So that we might better know our path,
When to laugh and when to fight.

In his youth he sailed and fought,
Now he works and tries to teach,
We the lucky understand,
And are thankful for his reach.

Like a Republican of old,
Who defended Roman law,
He slices through politicians’ babble,
To find their every flaw.

And at the same time,
He tells us of our land,
Of the mighty western plains,
Of Rocky Mountains grand.

Thus he builds a dialogue
That like some Ariadne’s ribbons,
Will help to explain our current travails,
A source for a future Gibbons.

Garden Spider

Here in my rose garden,
She hangs by a thin thread,
She spins her clever web,
More nasty bugs might be dead!

I hope she builds a mighty web,
Catches fly after fly,
Right in front of my window,
I’ll watch the little buggers die.

Too darn many horse flies,
Nasty, nasty bites!
Need a few more garden spiders,
To help set things right.

So spin you labyrinthine web,
Catch lots of nasty bugs!
I am grateful for your presence,
But please, I want no hugs!

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