The Storm

Lightning flashed and thunder boomed,
The storm surged and the winds grew.
He pulled his gray coat tight and forged on.
The wind whipped his bearded face,
He maintained his slow trodden pace.

The world swirled and pushed back,
Icy cold water passed down his gray-coated back.
Blood of warriors pumped through his veins.
Traditions of family, long past, followed with the frosty pain,
They hurried him forward, not to be ignored.

The winds billowed and grew harder.
The storm surrounded him and everything yonder.
His cool gray eyes squinted against it,
His heart steady, even this very instant.

The storm was ramping up to full force,
His old boots never faltered off course.
He persevered in the land of cotton,
His steps slow, but never forgotten.

The storm cackled and crashed,
Hissed and slashed, everything was dashed.
His weathered lips did part,
To pray for those, he held in his Southern heart.

The storm cursed and spat, ripping at his hat,
Trying to pull the old gray coat from his back.
His calm extended, his past still dutifully tended.
His persistence winning, the storm started spinning.

The brunt of the storm came upon him,
Determined to crush the man and his kin.
The tempest did press, but this was merely a test;
Ready, but winded, his past still defended.

He stood tall and strong; the storm met him headlong.
The storm did its best, the man did attest.
But this man was stout, and his will won out.
His rightful life he did win, and he always will again.

In his new gray coat, he now stands.
Holding his wife and children’s hands.
His country free, his people strong;
In a Free Dixie, he does belong.