He is old now, living in the center of
His ninth decade here,
But he carries the years like
A mantle of wealth, rather than a burden.
He asks me if I saw the stone wall
At the entrance to the college.
I did, and admired it. He tells me
His son, gone now from this world
Brought that wall to be and put it in its place
A thing of skill and beauty,
Perfection in its own way. Its sweep
And length and even its breaks
Say: Here is something of substance
Of which you are welcome to partake.
And I dream the next night and hear
These words, “Blessed is the man
Who knows his own home place,
Who can name it, and tell its story.”
I did not know the voice, but
There was authority in the saying.
(J. McGinty, 1/2/16)