Unsung

Fortitude in greyness comes.
Not with pithy sayings:
Chin Up;
Keep a Stiff Upper Lip;
Pull Your Finger Out;
Pull Your Socks Up;
Get a grip;
It is always darkest just before dawn;
Things can only get better;
Count your blessings;
God helps those who help themselves;
Pick yourself up;
Dust yourself off;
Start all over again,
... so often said though rarely stirring.

Fortitude in greyness comes.
Not in cheery countenance;
A well-placed arm of sympathy;
Nor coaxing voice of reason;
Or rousing motivational speaker -
All well meant, but inneffective.

Fortitude in greyness comes.
When the sight of those who, in silence,
Tending to their daily obligations,
With ne'er a complaint or confrontataional protest,
Or even a whispered, wistful wish -
just acceptance and contentment.
(Or so it seems to our jaded eyes)

Fortitude in greyness comes.
Not with colour, fireworks, music;
No pomp and ceremony;
No light from above nor inner voice;
No applause nor cheering crowds;
No medals, honours or badges.
No future Bards will recall the moment,
Of some glorious, valorous turn.

No.

No, Fortitude in greyness comes,
When remembering the unsung,
The forgotten everyman, and everywoman
Whose drab, maybe even dreary lives[?],
Continue unabated, uncontested and unrelieved.
Doing what needs to be done;
Day in; day out - with unrelenting persistence.
Those who consistently endure;
With fortitude.

Fortitude in greyness comes.
Plain, simple and unassuming.



© 2009 Ancestral Celt