  
 
Independence?
The Lady holds a tablet. There is a date engraved.
July 4, 1776. A memo that we saved.
Within that page of History, we hold the American Rose.
Pressed by weight of moments, the album now we close,
To mark the beginning of Man’s finest striving,
Wherein heroes, villains, and events were arriving,
At a small town we call Philly, (That’s where we keep the bell.)
To speak their piece, and start a war, and put them all through Hell.
It was a needed moment. We had to take our place,
Among the giants of the earth, for Life stepped up the pace.
We had to shoulder burdens, that no one else could bear,
And send the finest of our land, to fix things ‘over there.’
The blood we shed has nourished the Freedom that we sowed,
And gave the homeland back ten-fold, all debts that we had owed.
Just to ensure survival of the plantings that we nourished.
We went back for a second time, to make sure that it flourished.
We thought that we could take a break, and live a private life,
Unburdened by the problems of the world and all its strife.
But this small world kept shrinking, and our moat gives no protection,
From enemies who should be friends, except for their infection.
We’ll need to cure their illness, whatever the cost may be,
Or we will not enjoy the life we have, a life of liberty.
It’s not enough to shine a light beside the door,
We have to go among them, and boost the ‘yearnings’ of the poor.
NicknamedBob . . . . . . . . . . . . July 3, 2004 |
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