Crisp
Autumn frost biting noses and toes as
A
reverent assemblage awaits the occasion. No anger or protest, no mock revolution,
Just love and respect for the symbol at hand.
Young men in uniform move briskly with purpose
To tender the flame’s resolute preparation.
They gather their linens, all tattered and worn,
The emblem of liberty throughout the land.
In staid ceremony, a crisp call to order,
A calm benediction of gentle persuasion.
“The line forms right here
To bring forth your banners”
To place on the pyre through the dirge of the band.
I stand at attention, hat in hand.
My eyes are aghast with the realization
The flame purifies, sanctifies, canonizes
In ways nary a soul will misunderstand.
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