We Celebrate 250 Years
The old ink rests on parchment sheets,
While summer pulses in the streets.
We hear the ghost of marching feet,
And drums that echo, proud and fleet.
With quiet, searching eyes, we trace
The struggles of this sprawling place,
The heavy cost, the fragile dream,
And all we are, and all we seem.
Yet freedom is no static thing—
It asks the modern heart to sing.
It’s found in every untied string,
In modern art and words that ring.
In vibrant brush, in rhythmic flow,
In all the brilliant ways we grow,
We take the past and make it new,
To paint a boundless, vivid blue.
Beneath the flashes in the night,
We fuse the shadow with the light.
The history that gave us flight,
Drives our creative, hopeful might.
A living, breathing, pulsing art,
That maps the pulse of every heart,
Where ancient truths and futures meet,
To make the modern dream complete.
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