On a cold December day,
The sky was dull and gray.
The river Potomac lay frozen,
The sounds of birds, painfully broken.
People arrived in droves for the procession,
Many aghast at the shocking revelation.
A great white steed trod slowly through the crowds of Virginia,
The empty saddle signifying the great loss for America.
The one Wheatley praised for his valor and virtue more,
Now lay forever behind heaven’s door.
Despite his request for a private burial,
Americans flocked to see the greatest memorial.
Thunderstruck most were for they could not have conceived,
A man as great would so soon be grieved.
The troops, the band, the mourners marched on,
Heavy hearts, each, in disbelief that he was gone.
The clergy prayed and the Masons performed the final rites,
Some watched while others took to flight.
The shroud concealed the greatest American,
Who lived by principles now long forgotten.
In the simple red brick tomb in Mount Vernon he now lays,
Unaware of the mayhem of his country’s present days.
A man once celebrated and unanimously elected,
Is now forgotten and mostly disrespected.
For ‘tis true he was born in February,
But they will not even honor his memory.
Columbus Day they gladly celebrate,
But a special day for this extraordinary Leader, they hate.
Of all the politicians we see,
He was the greatest Statesmen there shall ever be.
Should you ever hold a dollar in your hand,
Do remember that George Washington was a great man.
Photo Credit: OZinOH (Creative Commons)
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In Flanders Fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
By John McCrae, Published Anno Domini 1919.
A Response To Those In Flanders Fields
By Chris Farrell, Anno Domini 2011
Our Fathers passed with their last breath
That we might not know freedom’s death
A Torch to light the way.
They warned us well to hold it high
And shine it on advancing lie;
Distinguishing the “gray.”
That they might rest in Peace and sleep
Assured that our Faith runs as deep
As theirs did in their day.
Now—to our shame—our nation’s turned away from rows of crosses
Unto the liberal legion’s lies and “democratic” bosses.
We’ve dropped the everlasting Flame purchased at such great cost;
Our foe’s advanced and taken ground, but all is not yet lost.
If—turning from our wicked ways—we seek His face anew,
The Lord will bless this land again and everything we do.
For Liberty our fathers died that others might live free.
Take up the Torch that shines their Light that yours too It may be.
“The preservation of the sacred fire of liberty, and the destiny of the republican model of government, are…staked on the experiment entrusted to the hands of the American people.”
–George Washington, First Inaugural Address, 1789