Widening and widening away from the mire,
The grandchild remembers lessons from his grandmothers;
That nothing falls apart when we to each other hold—
Mere decency can reign in our world;
No prophetic tide is loosed, nor everywhere
Do we drown; hope floats
When even not as our best we accept our faults
And just care about each other.
Surely some new promise is at hand.
Surely a second coming is close to hand—
A new returning! Hardly are those words out
When I tremble in remembered despair
Of our four year horror; yet somewhere in this land—
A shape is emerging from the huddled masses
That still yearn to breathe free;
We are moving in slow but steady lines
Towards a world for everyone’s children.
Please god; let not this darkness drop again.
We’ve made it barely two centuries,
And might need two more to get it right,
But waking from this nightmare,
Perhaps we all can finally see that we, rough beasts,
Can reached a promised land to be reborn.
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