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My hero doesn’t have a name
No marble mausoleum
No granite stone extolls his fame.
No hall in a museum

The few short words the wise man penned
In Ecclesiastes 9
Do not record his name or rank
But character define

A little city with just a few
Of men within its walls
Attacked, Besieged by a great king
Huge bulwarks standing tall.

And looking on with battle sense
They didn’t stand a chance
Their little city doomed, it seemed
By fate and happenstance

There was a man within the walls
A citizen of the town
A man of humble station
No claim to great renown

We know two things about this man
That He was poor and he was wise
And that somehow he was able
A victory to devise

We cannot now know his methods
The strategies employed
We know only that it was wisdom
Against the enemy deployed

 

And that he didn’t have the means
To purchase strength or power
Wisdom alone would be his strength
In wisdom’s finest hour

I trust that those his wisdom saved
Remembered for awhile
But years roll on and memories fade
As steps turn into miles

His city saved, his people spared
His name became obscure
But the story of his wisdom
Is what does still endure

A city, small, few men therein,
A father, wise but poor
Could that describe a family
In walls that are secure?

Can I be wise and poor and brave
And forego reputation
And lead my family humbly
In daunting situation?

My name will fade, that part’s OK
The important thing to me –
The little city that was mine
Will reach eternity

My hero doesn’t have a name
No following nor fame.
But a city stands intact, secure
Tis better than a name.

                              Don Toews