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| Hard worker. Planter of trees. |
The sun, then?
That magnificent golden orb in the sky?
Certainly not. Of all the heroes in
this universe, perhaps his praises have been sung the most. The moon, then? Less intense and furtive to be sure, but she
too is a heroine about which countless poems have been written. The shining stars? The raging wind? The magnificent sea? No.
Heroes all.
What, then, is an unsung hero? The unsung hero is the unnoticed hero. He is the one who quietly protects. The one who silently leads without others
knowing. She is the one who plods on in
her thankless work, gathering what she may here and there, storing for leaner
times, hoping for better. She is the one
who teaches, without whom others could not hope to succeed. He is the one who gently sings a song so
quietly, that only the snow could hear, if it were listening.
The unsung heroes do the boring work, which comprises
most of the work of the world. They
weave the background of the magnificent tapestry we call life, in front of which the mighty
eagle appears small by comparison. They
feed and teach and soothe and hope. They
are not called large or brave or strong or beautiful. In fact, they are not noticed at all. They walk silently throughout the landscape,
rarely making a sound, holding the world together whenever it threatens to
burst apart yet again.
