I am a better person because Charles Kuralt touched my life.    I wrote this poem in celebration of this wonderful man.

            Sometimes when life seems just to confuse,  
            Under the weight of the evening news
            Never a night of peace on earth,
            Distant seems the days of love and mirth.
          At Last among the tears of Saturdays sorrow,
          Your beautiful show will be on tomorrow.
          Magical mornings of wonder and love,
            Of canyons and rivers and skies up above.
          Rafters and runners and birds doing all things,
          Nesting and resting and flapping their wings.
            Invincible mountains and gentle petals of flowers,
          Nasty snowstorms and hailing and sometimes sun showers.
            Gusting winds of the Atlantic and forests so tall,
          Whispering breezes of Wyoming and leaves of the fall.
            In all of these beauteous moments I cherish so much,
          The human story you bring us is so gentle to touch.
          Hard hats and blue collar - people us all.
          Chairmen and newsmen - the short and the tall.
          Here we all gather on an early Sunday morn,
          Awaiting our sensitivity again to be reborn.
            Remembering all week through the missles and mugging,
          Lest we forget the simple pleasure of loving and hugging.
          Eyes that sometimes cry, hearts that you touch,
          Sounds of beautiful music we all need so much.
          Keeping up with the good news just fills me with pride,
            Understanding that man has more than one side.
          Right from wrong your stories do teach,
            Alters are not necessary or needing to preach.
            Love is the lesson, life is the game,
            Truth is your wisdom, Kuralt is your name.

Mike Jacobs

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