Thurman P. Woodfork

(or Sing a Song of Chicken Hawks)

Ah, you quick-witted verbal artist,
You master of the cogent phrase;
How deftly you weave your magic
As you mesmerize and amaze

While persuading the disinclined
With the magic of your words.
I swear I smell sunlit meadows
And hear sweetly singing birds

In spite of the leafless branches
And hint of snow on the wind;
You conjure the smell of roses
As though it were Spring again.

Your speeches, formed so skillfully
And voiced in ringing tones,
Could make one rush to battle
Armed only with sticks and stones.

Of course, you must stay behind,
Remaining true to The Cause,
Pumping out that fiery rhetoric
To rounds of patriotic applause.

Forced to remain close to home
(Safely near your own front stoop)
You keep urging on the Faithful
To rally and ‘Support The Troops’.

What would we do without you
Working so hard and tirelessly?
You’re a paragon of selflessness,
Staunch Allegiance, and Fidelity.

It would be nice if some relatives
Of yours would join in the fray,
So more vets could stay home too,
Before they’re blown away.

Oh, but you do such yeoman’s work
Why quibble over so small a thing?
Just think of all the backing for them
That your unflagging fealty brings.

So, go on with your work, my brother
To boost the support ever stronger,
And they’ll keep on bleeding and dying
In hopes this won’t last much longer.

Submitted for the December 2005 IWVPA Club Theme Project, “Fidelity