Simon’s call to life is loud and raucous and uneven,

as unpolished and grating as an anthem can be.

He will not get to Carnegie Hall,

or have his own CD,

or make it to Fresh Air.

Yet is one of the sweetest sounds I hear when I come out of the house in the morning,

when I get out of my car,

when we meet across the pasture fence,

when I enter the barn.

This raspy cry is a melody, a symphony for me,

is a battle cry, an anthem,

Simon has crawled to the very edge

of life,

and then crawled back to live.

His bray is stirring,

it says respect life,

do not dare waste a day of it,

on fear or argument or anger or

hesitation.

Put your lips to the world, he says,

and live your life.