A lad takes an interest in technical things
and likes to read books for the knowledge it brings.
He takes things apart and soon starts to see
that to get things to work, skilled hands are the key.
Curiosity thrives, then he learns about ham,
he wants to know more, though he's not yet a man.
But his age doesn't stop him, he's learned that the fee
of getting a ticket is skill with the key.
So he practices code while his friends look and say
"What's happened to him? Why won't he come play?"
But he pays no attention, their cry he won't heed
cause he's steadily working at learning the key.
The testing day comes and he's taken with fright,
but he's so well prepared, he gets through it all right.
Now he's proud of himself, a ham he will be,
through his patience and practice, he's mastered the key.
Some years now behind him, he's made many friends
at hamfests and Field Days and special events.
The ether is filled from the plains to the sea
with the thunder that comes from the touch of his key.
From HF to packet, on phone or in code
he was billed as an expert in most every mode.
But the thing he liked best, it was easy to see
was the thrill that he got when he rattled the key.
He assisted with traffic on many a net
and promoted the hobby each chance he could get.
In times of disaster, on site he would be
to provide his assistance by manning the key.
The years started mounting and when he looked back
saw ham was his life, and he liked it like that.
He never got married, some say he stayed free
but the truth is his love was the rig and the key.
His health started failing, pain came from the bone,
soon he couldn't work code but could only use phone,
though he tried now and then, it was never to be
but he never relinquished his love for the key.
The years finally got him, he passed on one night
in his chair in the shack, with his hand on the mic.
The mic in his hand, though a fact it may be,
we all know his heart was nearer the key.
They gathered his gear when they locked up his shack
and they sold some at auctions and left some for trash.
But no one would touch his proud legacy
which was there on the bench: his age-worn brass key.
I still can remember the last words that he spoke.
They were words rich in wisdom, but ignored by most folks.
Now except for that message that still lives in me,
all that is left, is a now silent key.
Jeff - KQ4GF (now AC4ZO)