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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