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
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