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