POETRY CORNER: MILTON JACKSON HOLLIDAY, COUNTRY DOCTOR

A man, a horse, a lonely trail, treacherous hills and plains,

a satchel filled with home-grown herbs for curing aches and pains.

Alone he rode into the night to help those in despair;

O'er muddy creeks and snowy steeps he went because he cared.

He had no fancy office nor shingle to behold,

He only had his courage and a heart of purest gold.

He traveled miles from house to house never asking who could pay,

"I got the word -- I'm here to help," is all that he would say.

When surgery was the treatment a kitchen table had to do,

his scalpel was a paring knife and a fee was never due.

Some offered for his services a fresh baked cake or pie,

he graciously accepted with a glimmer in his eye.

He gave his all -- his very best, regardless of their wealth,

for this old country doctor just cared about their health.

But then one day they etched his name upon a granite stone,

Now this old country doctor is buried near his home.

Here in this place his journey ends, from burdens he's set free

And here this faithful servant fades into history....