America is Dying

By Anna Bohnett, WCFS Senior

I saw a fair young woman

Dressed in garments bright.

The colors stood for valor,

Truthfulness and right.

Her skirt was red like crimson,

Like the blood of those of gallantry,

Who for her kind and gentle hand,

They gave their lives so nobly.

Her blouse was white as snow,

Like the robes of those,

Who for another than this world,

A noble death was chose.

She wore a vest of blue,

That for truth and honor stood.

She held the torch of freedom,

Love, kindness, and good.

Beside her stood a shield,

Polished and shining bright

Above her hovered an eagle,

It was a splendid sight.

Her face was buried in her hands,

Her tears they flowed like rain.

I wondered at her weeping,

What had caused such pain?

And so, I then approached her,

Though slowly, lest she’d flee.

And as I drew near to her, who wept,

She cried in agony.

“Woe is me!  Woe is me!

For a friend of mine is dead!

She died a death that no one should suffer,

Oh, woe,” the fair young woman said.

I tried to console the girl,

But my comfort she refused.

She would not receive any conciliation,

For her friend had been terribly abused.

She turned her tear-filled eyes to me,

And I saw them for the first time.

The pain in them went deep,

To hurt one like her seemed a crime.

Her once clear cheeks were riverbeds,

For the tears that would not stop.

I handed her a handkerchief,

For an attempt her tears to mop.

Her eyes would have been the clearest blue,

Like the sky on a sunny day,

But the pain from deep inside,

Brought clouds of deepest gray.

To both my shock and horror,

She revealed that the death was not alone.

This poor girl mourned the death of not one,

But two whom she loved and had known.

Both were killed by uncaring people,

Persons cold and cruel.

One was a person, intentionally killed,

The other, who died unknown, was a necessary tool.

I was taken back, “What was this tool?”

I asked the girl in surprise.

“This tool had enabled civilizations to survive,

It was the golden rule.

“For on the 31st of March,

A part of America died.

Another bit of morality is gone,

How can we hold up our head in pride?

“For this one Nation under God

Is slipping over the side,

Of a deep, dark, horrible abyss,

For we are without our guide.

“We have neglected our former love,

On whom our nation was founded.

As He was pushed out of the way,

Death and sin abounded.”

She stopped here, but for a moment,

To wipe an impassioned tear.

“Oh, fellow citizen,” she pleaded,

“Hear what I say, gather your friends near.

“Has our nation gone so low,

That a life has no more worth?

That a human, who cannot speak for himself,

Will never see his birth?

Or that a human, who may not be like you or I,

Who cannot offer resistance,

Is sentenced on the whim

Of one who should be her defense?”

I bowed my head in shame,

For her words I could not disprove.

She cried all the harder,

But I could not move.

I stood there with my head bowed,

Listening to her weep.

When suddenly she stopped and said,

“You have sown, now you must reap.

“But after the gathering of this harvest,

Another crop you must sow.

Will it be for good,

Or another yield of woe?

She lifted up my chin,

And she looked me in the eye.

“It is your battle, fellow citizen.”

“My battle,” I said, “why?”

“It is your battle,” said she,

“Because it is your war.

You must fight to keep

What soon may be no more.”

With that, she turned away,

And left me alone to contemplate.

For a world where life is worthless

Will soon be a world of hate.