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Monday, August 10, 2009

In America

I've never heard
of your home,
where you toil
under burning stars:
to breathe,
to perfect,
beautify,
this tiny stronghold;
still waving flags,
and traditions,
long ago rejected.

Your life
is of devotion,
to save
this miniscule fortress
of charm
and desolation,
and you smile
with hope;
but little spirit,
I've never heard
of your home
or your savior,
who you call
Freedom.

BH

1 comments:

Tracy said...

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