The Gunsmith’s Daughter, a poem in memory of Abby Shoffner Milligan Barron by Robert Stinson.

The gunsmith’s daughter is gone. How and what we know of him by her love remains witness.

By her we see the skilled days. By her we know a fixed bolt, a straight fence, a neighbor done right.

We see endless repair, genius innovation, a heart set right.

What can we do to save this metal, but to carry the stock and save from the day’s rust?

Our sights are well set. Because of their training, because of Her training in love, we can now also shoot straight.