THE VOICES – OURS AND THOSE BEFORE US – ARE NOT DEAD

I took her, my mother, to the urns

The encrusted, burnished,

Living relics

Of our past

We stood in line, transfixed, in solemn wonder

And respect

At the power of the principle,

The fidelity to right, 

And to the dignity of man, that they embodied 

And heard their voices speak

Back to the Greeks

And Washington,

These urns have served us well

And wars have been fought over them

By people who have chosen death

Over servitude

"Preferable morir de pie, que vivir de

 rodillas" remember that?

With the country torn asunder 

She insists 

On visiting the urns

To honor those before us

Who gifted us that right

Our voice

I took her, my mother,

To vote...