The climbing high was stone by stone
bloodied hands and striated hearts
scattered behind on the trail;
some crying years
and many happy ones;
but our life has been to be sure an upward struggle
to mountain climb, one after another.
Yet at each boulder and rock you offered me
a rope and line
and each time lifted up
me along with your self.
How can a climber of rocks lift both self
and another, but you do so and have done.
This is hero stuff and you are mine.
Beaten back and beaten down you surpassed
all that
was placed in your path and humor greeted
each strife and set-back.
The twinkled eye-your mischievous grin-
took its place at every battle scene
and you emerged from smoke and hue
unscathed, both us and you.
This is hero stuff.
I lay down my Cloth of Gold in salute
for you to step upon
for I am sure your foot will only lightly touch-
nay float above-
not because you are divinity
but because you take life lightly as it comes-
good humor, allows you to float-
scaling every mountain such
that it becomes an adventure it seems
characterizing the scaling up
and that is because of you my dear.
You are hero stuff.