On The Eve Of Independence Day

Tomorrow we will celebrate

The fall of ancient brutes;

It has been seven long decades

Since they did power lose.

The Mother though dismembered was,

She was no longer enslaved;

Her children though couldn't carry on,

Thus was there blood in the shade.

And as the Mother trudged along,

She did new tyrants see.

These brutes were of her own womb born,

Thus did they turn her weak.

Through orderly processions they

Did ruthless havoc wreak.

And guns and tongues and scalpels,

They did aim at the weak.

"In all my life," the Mother said,

"I've seen this custom repeat:

The weak can't fear the leaders as

The powerful fear the weak."

The wisest Mother walks along,

The children fight for crumbs.

That will not help or stay with them long,

Yet they will shed much blood.

The wisest Mother walks along,

She has no time to spare.

Her children will soon come around

If they do truly care.