This ones for Nancy and Harry. And Jack.

Liberty’s Child

Some say there’s ghostly marching, at night when shadows creep.
Abe Lincoln wanders marble halls, some say they’ve heard him weep.

The spirit of General Washington is said to be Earth-bound,
Observing the Halls of Congress, where truth cannot be found.

Brave Thomas Payne is near insane, bereaved by his Nation’s course.
Old Hickory rides down shadowed lanes, mustering a ghostly force.

Pale shadows of Lee and Traveler whom the Union once divorced,
Were seen near the graves of Arlington, leading John Kennedy’s horse.

In feathers and paint, Osceola, our land’s great Seminole
Leads his band of Native Americans, proud warriors, brave and bold.

From the West march the Coolie railroad men whose blood spread our Nation West,
Brave “Buffalo Soldiers”, Mountain men. God knows this land was blessed!

“Over There” Doughboys, World War One, their “Great War” victories won,
Patton’s troops, MacArthur’s men for the seige of Washington!

And in a place of honor, a rag-tag army stands
Thin and frail from the prison camps, sad eyes and outstretched hands.

Still proud to fight for America, though their souls don’t understand
Why their country left them there, in a god-forsaken land.

A Storm of Spirits, shore to shore, those dead who kept us free,
Mustering up a ghostly force, sounding reveille!

They plan to march on Washington. Who else would have more right?
Tom Jefferson’s busy writing ‘neath candles of eirie light.

“Your leaders lack integrity, they’ve lost the people’s trust!
We’re whispering ever to patriots, though our bodies long were dust.

It’s n’er too late, we must revive the spirit of our birth,
For as long as this Nation shall survive, true freedom stalks the Earth.

It stalks the sleep of tyrants who fear to wake each morn
To find through Freedom’s Darkest Night, Liberty’s Child reborn..

Behind the wire called Devil’s rope inside forced labor camps,
We whisper words to kindle hope- new fire for Freedom’s Lamp!

Can you hear us ring Old Liberty’s Bell? Ghost Drums as our troops advance?
You’ve drawn too deep from Freedom’s Well, and this is your last chance.

And if there’s no tomorrow……our unseen army waves
The flag, once proud Old Glory, o’er Freedom’s Hallowed Grave!”

Copyright 2006
Marsha Burks Megehee
sarpoet@datastar.net

Contributed by Bill Faith on March 31, 2007 at 09:05 PM in Marsha Burks Megehee, Poetry | Permalink

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