The Cane
The Cane
Not made of candy, but real wood.
It belonged to my father’s father,
and his father, before him.
No, they were all good man.
all equally healthy and mostly happy.
The one thing they all had,
that was shared…
Oak.
Fine wood, carved…
hand made,
personally designed,
a project,
to define a legacy.
Freedom.
Purchased with the blood,
of the citizens,
the fathers of sons,
now gone.
The fathers of sons,
that knew sacrifice.
They knew what it was
to be far from home,
and alone.
To protect, all that they cared for,
with all that they had.
Oak.
Solid wood…
from the Great American Forest.
Grown on a land that still believes,
all have a place.
The weak are not afraid.
They are allowed to offer their worth…
to the community and the society as a whole,
without concern, or even fear.
The lost, are not afraid,
they can pray in public and not be hung.
The heroes, they march down
every street…
Hail to those,
that put others,
before themselves.
The cane.
It is a symbol…
Carved with an eagle at the pummel.
The shaft is inlayed with silver,
copper and precious stones.
It will not break,
Iron is its core.
It is not a disability,
to walk in honor,
for all those that came before.
It is an honor to remember,
we can walk free at all.
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