America The Bold,

Stoops as she grows old.

Light is dimming in her eyes.

It comes as barely a surprise,

To watch her stumble ‘cross

Firm ground

Her fathers paved her all around.

She sways as in inebriation.

She cries out, “Am I yet a nation?”

Those who mourn her do so wisely,

Aware how soon her sure demise be.

As with any mother’s passing,

Those children who deserved a thrashing

Sob for themselves in soulful fashion,

Wondering who will pet their passion.

Copyright 2015, L.L. Shelton