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POEM
Inheriting the earth

Clyde Tilley

He sped off early to his work
Before the sun could rise.
She lingered while the sun came up
Before her pensive eyes.

He strode like madness to his desk.
Each minute had to count.
She tarried long at morning prayer
Before God’s holy fount.

He flailed about his busy work—
Tense, distraught, and driven.
She calmly moved about her chores
With a grace that God had given.

He earned a fortune from his work
And that of those he hired.
She but a modest living made
And to little else aspired.

He bought a stretch of real estate
With rolling fertile loam.
She rented the simplest house on it
And made of it a home.

He wanted that land across the hill
So he put in longer hours.
She, quite content to have a home,
Took time to smell the flowers.

He seldom stepped upon the place
But held deed to the land.
She simply waded in its brooks
And wrote upon its sand.

He had the means to buy the place,
And its title bore his name.
She had no means but was the meek
Who owned it just the same.

W. Clyde Tilley is a poet from Seymour, Tenn.

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Last modified June 16, 2001.

© 2001 Mennonite Brethren Herald.
Published by the Canadian Conference of MB Churches.
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