Who
would gripe any point to submission.
Those
who had known him
(And
some wanted to stone him)
Knew
stubbornness was his tradition.
He’d
argue the news or political views
With
a very short fuse to ignition,
Tear
down your beliefs
In
a volley of grief
With
the fury of nuclear fission.
Most
folks would relent
And
escape to their tent,
Pack
it up and scurry away.
But
he didn’t care if
They
choked on thin air.
Didn’t
ask to be irked anyway.
But
old Henry, the loner,
Had
a different persona
Behind
all the bluster and bluff.
Both
family and friends knew
It
all was pretend
When
he acted all grumpy and gruff.
Behind
the façade that he tried to ramrod
Was
a mate with a heart of pure gold.
And
his ornery ways will
Endear
him with praise
When
his story is finally told.
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