The Waiting Game

She lay in her coffin, unmoving and unseeing, the smell of bronze and silk strong in the closed, tiny space, the sounds of the receding drums growing dimmer, until finally she could hear them no more. In their stead, she heard a bird, calling to someone, instantly answered, heard the sound of everyday traffic on the nearby road. She would wait, for what, she did not know, but she would wait. She settled in, comfortable in her cramped surroundings, aware of life outside her bronze home, life above and beneath the surface of the earth. She marveled at the industrious sound of burrowing earthworms, intent on going only they knew where, of winged insects delicately making love to willing flowers, of gentle rain lightly brushing the cool, green grass. Yes, she thought, I shall wait.

Who was she, the young man asked
Who indeed, the old man said
I knew her well in my own youth
‘Tis Lady Liberty who is now dead
What is Liberty, the young man frowned
I do recall I’ve heard the word
But that was oh so long ago
But much since then must have occurred
The people changed, the old man sighed
Who took the checks gave up his soul
And grievance came to rule the land
And now She’s lying in that hole
Well, said the young man, Liberty
Could not have meant so very much
To give it up for circus bread
At the first brush of tyrant’s touch
So slow it came, the old man sighed
We never saw the moment when
And now She’s gone, by our own hand
Perhaps in time She’ll live again

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