The Painter's Hand/Poem/Bette Wolf Duncan

The early pioneers and ranchers who settled the west lived under conditions we can't imagine. It was another world a million miles away. Blizzards hit without notice and babies were born regardless. How many fathers helped their wives deliver a child in the absence of a midwife or doctor? Probably, a large number of them. The following poem is what I imagine a typical reaction of one such rancher and pioneer, Caleb Duncan, might have been.

                   







   He'd seen the painted, twilight sky-


the gold and purple morn,

   until his son was born.


but never saw the painter's hand







He'd never been a man to ponder

what was life about_

to question it or doubt.

too consumed with life itself






It was enough to wake and hear

the chorus of the birds.

some preacher's mystic words.

No need to ever think about






But when he saw his newborn son,

with certainty he knew

that all the things he'd heard about

a mighty God were true.








   He'd seen the vibrant prairie blooms

   painted on the land.


But on the day his son was born,

 he saw the painter's hand.








Bette Wolf Duncan