My hero wears no uniform, bears no arm,

Has no tinkling medals pinned onto his chest,

Never ever fires a shot, causes no harm,

Not for him the glory of conquering quest.

My hero is the man, who thinks and acts calm,

Who keeps his temper when others would lose theirs,

Who’s every word can act like a soothing balm,

Amidst a riot of conflicting affairs.

My hero is the mother, who loves her child,

Who gently scolds, but heals with a tender kiss,

Rides through domestic storms with her manners mild,

With her entire being radiating bliss.

My hero is the person, man or woman,

Rising to challenge, remaining mild and meek,

Even when face to face with tyrant’s henchmen…

One who will dare to hold out the other cheek.

My hero walks calmly into the sunset,

Leaving nothing but his footprints in the snow,

Leaving behind him no strife and no upset,

…Knowing that his way leads into a gentle glow…

© P. J. Oszmann (2002)

Illustration: Photograph adapted in Photoshop.