By Myrtha Gunter
Dedicated To: The memory of Vincent David Gunter Sr.
among those who will never see the completion of the
road.
Although he was a simple mountain man
Who trusted and believed
When they called out to him their need
His heart he did give to them
By following the ways of old
He gave his trust, his son, his land, and his belief
That a man’s word, his handshake was made to keep
He gave his all.
Now this simple man sits down
Upon the smoky mountains
Of his youth and past
To view and listen to his people’s plea
Of a promise given in times of old
Of a promise trusted not to be sold.
He turns and looks at those who are standing beside him
His kinship, his native friends, his companions
Who travel with him through the gray smoky mist of time
Among the many, only one steps forward
Speaking to him on a quiet whispered sigh
History speaks to you of days gone by
Now you know the ways of the forked tongue and broken
lies.
This poor simple mountain man turns once again to
observe
The land and his people of the day
Taking a moment to consider
The whispered words of his native companion
Then bowing his head upon a bended knee, he understands
A promise given that is never completed
Is a promise that travels on a road to nowhere
A promise of broken lies
Oh! This poor simple mountain man.
