This is about Richard's grandfather on his mother's side. Will's Ridge is a place in Floyd, the site where his grandfather's farm used to be.
Your grandfather’s a mountain.
Though he passed some time ago,
his name endures, enshrined
on maps and part of local lore.
In contrast, Greeks and Romans
once made gods of sea and storm,
each willow housed a dryad,
all the earth alive, divine.
Egyptian pharaohs, who fancied
themselves gods, charted their
immortal course from pyramids
built up by human hands, while
moderns mark their graves
with chunks of polished granite,
piles of sea-smooth stones,
marble mausoleums, built
to last, if what’s within is not..
Your grandfather outdoes them all,
a modest farmer, his mountain
stands unchanged, and will
as long as there are maps, and even
beyond that, for named
or nameless, the mountain
shapes the world around it,
makes this a place, marked by
its jagged silhouette against the sky.