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Donna's Poems
by Donna Flood

1960, Jones I was, family of power, fire, spirit, He braved this, for me.
Married, work the neighbors ranches,  stood in place, for me.
Held our birth injured daughter in his strong arms, for me.
Worked the books on a G.I. bill, injured baby, amidst my sorrow, for me.
A small town boy stood toe to toe with the giants of Dallas, for me.
Quietly stood with me against blood and entities for his new son and for me.

1970, He left position, sure success, the city's glory to face my life's battle, for me.
Held me as he held his injured first daughter, no complaints, or backward looks, for me.
Accepted all the sling and onslaughts of questioning wondering family and friends, for me.
Softly worked a harder battle to survive in a small town with less abundant prosperity, for me.
Meekly walked the razor's edge with race and religion's tumultuous vice, for me.
Stepped across races for the building of our home amidst tribal controversy, for me

1980, He met the gentle decline of Lee, my father, who loved him, for me.
Suffered he through hemorrhage of momentous continuous down spiral, for me.
Carried my father's coffin, spoke the words over his grave, for me.
Shouldered the sorrow of my whole family complacent and steady, for me
Walked my daughter  her husband, stood before them, to counsel & marry them, for me.
Suffered my sorrow, her steady mourning over the death of her marriage in divorce, for me.

1990 His granddaughter needed a father, and he was her grandfather and father, for me.
Pulled his daughter through depths of muddy grief to a steady productive citizen, for me.
Worked with his son in all the battles he had already confronted pulling him off his knees, for me.
Took the child lost to our son through the decades of history's record, for me.
Walked with no judgment of  circumstances and led his son, no rage, for me.
Stepped up to hold his son's son, daily, strong, while age hovers about, for me.


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