Poems by D.L. Grothaus - Boise PD

This Shield

This shield goes where no man knows,
what lies behind the wall,
Up the stair, through the door,
or down a darkened hall.
This shield goes where trouble thrives,
where pain and death abode,
Where people live in squalor deep,
and all is lost save hope.
This shield stands watch while others sleep,
rest safely in their homes.
It cuts the root of evil out,
wherever it may grow.
A cry for help, to join the fray,
respond to fateful call,
Stand this ground, protect the right,
the cost, to forfeit all.
Behind this shield, a heart of steel,
but tender just the same.
It deals with desperate, struggling lives
and knows each one by name.
Behind this shield, a family dwells,
no ordinary life.
They bear the one who wears this shield. 
They share the pain and strife.
On each shield, a special grace,
the hand of God you’ll find.
For those who bear this shield step out,
and form the thin blue line.

D. L. Grothaus
Boise PD—12/27/2002

LEGEND OF THE BAGPIPES

The pipes have played for many year, at grave side, court and glen
Of things about the bagpipe, you'll notice now and then.

As skillful piper does his part, to make the music sweet
With drones and chanter finely tuned, good music 'tis his meat.

The pipes may honor wedding guests, and celebrate a baby
Or play a tune for dearest friends, with music, dance and ceilidh.

But bagpipes all a mystery roll, when played at funeral pall
They measure man in life and death, to God, they speaketh all.

The drones will strike, and play they well, to tell the tale that's found
Of the one, who here lies, they call to all around.

The tune is played. the music rings, both sweet and strong and sure
A life so blessed by God's own hand, a heart that's kind and pure.

But drones will wail and canter fail, in face of blackened heart
To tell to all, misdeeds recalled, the pipes will do their part.

Take heed my friend, for in the end, your deeds both foul and fair
Rise up to God from earthen sod, when piping fills the air.

Choose ye now a path 'tis straight, with honor be ye seen
In death your sweet lament is played, or else a banshee scream.

D.L. Grothaus 10/3/02

(more coming ...!)