Mount not far off marching boots!
Hail not the unctuous, Texan princes!
Born dry, resolute, and smiling lot
Vain hearts, presumed new order.
Farewell Liberty's dove, die and spit unsung
Hello unwelcome Legion, veiled multitude and count
Our bastard spawn, public apostles, ministers aloof
Cousins to our slothful slumber.
Where is our trumpet, our solitary soldier?
Fallen on a dark wood, frozen forever?
O solid stone! pitched from a sunless sky
He cast thee to the well, never to be drawn again?
Lift knee, scale elected wall,
Set foot upon his rock, sure step
As he who strode twelve times with us,
Must we with him declare:
Nevermore to such unmindful sleep,
Much more than we can see,
A brother's stumble to prevent
Is our sweet Liberty!
--Philip Samsa, 6 Nov. 2002
Mysterium, (Ode to Senator Paul Wellstone)
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