Finding a starting point
Where once a relationship,
A simple study in foolishness.
I knew the Man better than many Sons,
Both of Us the product
Of a Family farm.
Perhaps the memory most clear
His driving the Combine,
A self-propelled monster
Long his most-cherished possession.
There are images of drinking cold beer,
Sitting on a hay pile in the hot Summer Sun.
Frigid stories of busting Snow drifts
In a cold Nebraska winter,
Simply to feed starving cattle.
What can be said of this man,
A simple farmer;
But respected by his peers.
I went to other things,
Leaving him to carry on;
Returning only to watch so sad,
As Alzheimers destroyed
What was once so robust a Man.
What this Man great?
Only considered so by his friends;
Loved by his family,
Though he had faults.
Now he is five years' dead,
With the living still with sorrow
At his passing.
What can one say of another,
Except to possibly state:
His name was George Gerhardt Lux.