Scrapper Steve Poem by Vicki Ellis

I know a simple little man
His dog is his only companion.
He works hard most days and
Drinks hard most nights and
Listens to the mournful wind
Blow all down the canyon.

His heart is as pure as the drift of snow
Outside his door in March,
His pride as tall as the towering trees,
His passion burns like a torch.

He may seem a bit addled
Or perhaps a little slow,
But the love he has always shown me
Rivals a campfire’s glow.

If you were to meet him
At the bar down the hill,
He wouldn't stand out in your mind,
But when he picks up his blues harp to play
The music he makes is so fine.

What more can I say about Scrapper?
He's a gentleman though unrefined,
A hell of a working man,
And he is so very kind.
And when I count my blessings,
This friendship comes to mind.