Pine Mountain Cemetery XXVII

Once not too long ago, right here on
This very mountain, there was one
Brought up the path we’ll ne’er forget.

The trumpets rang a clarion song,
A new call to the post, an eternal
Ride through curtained mists ahead.

Laughing, stomping, pounding,
Hot walker to the end. You lived,
Kentucky Hard Boot, to the core.

Red hair, blue eyes and Irish
Temper a foil for your hidden
Giving heart, not such a secret.

You rode through life a rousing
Wind tousled hair, glee bubbled
From heart, middle and head.

Down, up, and back again.
Never neutral, always reaching.
Your like, rare, seldom matched.

St. Peter will smile at the gate
To see you running apace
On his jewel encrusted track.

Hard Boots left below will hear
Echoes of your laugh when once
Again the trumpet calls to post.

Yet never gone, you’re always just
Beyond the finish line calling us
To finish strong, life’s best wager.