Your face
is carved with lines of permanent dignity,
handsome
rugged features,
portraying
a silent longing for the unconquered,
untried,
untamed.
Your hands
are rough, expressive and gentle.
They are
agile and flexible for delicate photography
yet strong
and unyielding
for the demands
of stone masonry.
On top of
your head is perched a black captain's hat,
covering
your eye is a rakishly worn black leather eye-patch
that appears
to hide more
than just
the eye it covers.
Your voice
speaks words of wisdom and peace,
a voice of
steel, yet somehow tempered
with gentleness
and a deep genuine feeling of love
for those
to whom you speak.
The love
you feel for your family
is as a mountain
in the midst of a violent storm,
an unyielding
force with roots firmly implanted in the soil,
outlasting
any foreign attack upon it.
Your body
longs to be in those mountains, where you were born.
My body longs
to be there also.
I am of your
blood,
I am strong,
I am loved.
You are missed.
