The Man No One Remembers

You will find few poems written about him,
Few songs sung in his honor.
Yet he is there, silent and strong like the Earth.
He is a father,
The man no one remembers.

He is the one who works long and hard
Battling alone the wolf at the door.
His is the hand that wins the bread,
That brings home the bacon.
Like the life-giving storms, he sometimes grumbles,
But his absence is keenly felt.
He is a father,
The man no one remembers.

His heartbeat is the heartbeat of the home,
His hands its founding and defense,
His voice is like the voice of God--
Oft ignored but never quite escaped.
His honor is the backdrop of our lives,
His soul the silent substance of our world.
He is a father,
The man no one remembers.

His is not the special place of honor,
But of silent, sturdy faithfulness.
And once a year in June a few muttered platitudes,
Soon forgotten.
His gifts may be forgotten--but never gone,
And all we are is because of what he was.
He is a father,
The man no one remembers
And yet no one forgets.
For though we do not sing his praises,
Yet we can never forget that silent strength,
That voiceless love,
Which is the rough foundation of our lives.

He is the man no one remembers.
Silent, like all strong, triumphant things;
Like the rough earth which hold our life;
Like the clear air which gives us breath,
Like rugged mountains, glittering suns,
And the omnipresent grace of God.
For every good and perfect gift cometh from the Father.