I was cold asked for a blanket she covered me with herself I was tired and she granted me a rest in love of her being I was lost and in her I found the will to pass from the hell I was cup of the everlasting fear in the world of hate and pain She filled me with promise of a life in a place of freedom
The hand raise high the torch to the sky all will see Liberty built not on stone or of brass but blood and tears Freedom does not ring it screams out and demands Pick up your cross this is the path and the road is rough Ideals are formed and forged in the black shop of the soul
No one man writes the book or the paper No one person set the standard to build a nation No one hand makes the hope live in dreams of better No one life sets the example of truth in liberty and justice Many hands with many men build the dream and give it life
Our forefathers laid the paper it is up to us to nurture and allow to grow Hold the truth of freedom, live the dream, support the dream, be the dream Vote
I am glad this is not my vote...because I ain't American!!
God bless those who have to make a choice!!
love Tinka
Reviewed by Alice Cooper (Reader)
Reviewed on October 30, 2004
Walter our American dream lives on because Veterans like you keep it in their minds and heart. God bless you for this poem. Bill
p.s. No other way to spell this title. Mark Twain or no Mark Twain.
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I am glad this is not my vote...because I ain't American!!
God bless those who have to make a choice!!
love Tinka
p.s. No other way to spell this title. Mark Twain or no Mark Twain.