Poetry Corner: The Man from Belchertown
An ode to Porter Rockwell
Born in the east, but died in the west
Went to his grave the best of the best
Accused, maligned, misunderstood
But the prophet declared that his life was good
Boggs cried, “That man shot me,” yet how can this be?
If he shoots you, you’re shot, son, I guarantee
He guarded our Joseph, and then Brigham Young
With blade from sheath and bullet from gun
Like Samson of old his long hair he maintained
And by prophetic word, his endurance he gained
In a time when the land was hard as a stone
And men were yet harder, at twelve they were grown
Our Porter stood stronger than men near or far
The ground was his pillow, his ceiling, the stars
Two centuries later his work doth inspire
Those of this mantle must aim themselves higher
Stand firm, stand relentless, stand tall against sin
Deflect demons without, and apostates within
Although he has passed, his work still is needed
Until those who would injure the Saints are defeated
An easier life he’d have had if he’d stayed
On the East Coast, but that was not our Porter’s way
The right path is one not so frequently trod
Still one must tread it if one would follow God
Thus Porter, the Angel, the Thunderous Son
We’ll keep up this fight until it is won
Sustaining the brethren, standing our ground,
Just like that brave man, born back in Belchertown.
Graham Bradley is a trucker, novelist, and illustrator. He served a mission in Barcelona, Spain, from 2003-2005. You can follow him on Twitter @GrahamBeRad.
