Scars of Freedom

 

Scars of Freedom

 

I met a lady on a well-traveled road.

She held a burning torch in her hand.

In her eyes I could see tales of all

The struggles faced in this land.

 

The cloak that she wore wasn’t new.

It was ragged and well worn.

It hid scars beneath the red, white and blue.

Scars that told a story.

 

She pointed at an old, faded scar.

One I could barely see.

“In 1776 I earned this scar.”

“This one is called Free.”

 

She pointed to a second scar.

“This one ended a civil war in 1865

And brought freedom for so many.

But so many fought this war and died.”

 

One by one she pointed at

Scars new and old.

And I listened to the stories

That each scar told.

 

I cried more tears than there were stars.

For the loss of lives and the pain that she bore.

In this heavy coat of ragged scars

That she so proudly wore.

 

She looked at me and saw my tears

She smiled and said, “Don’t weep.

The scars are here for all to know

Our freedom and democracy.”

 

I noticed the lady stood tall and proud

As I went on my way.

I saluted that lady in the ragged cloak.

God Bless the USA!

 

SK Virtue